


What We're Building Could Be Anything

by norgbelulah



Series: Set Fire to This House [11]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Long Awaited Sequel, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-03-26 15:57:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3856477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Raylan and Boyd's relationship enters a new stage, wherein they are once again forced to live semi-apart from each other, things in Harlan take a turn for the unstable. </p>
<p>Circumstances throw the boys, as well as their family, friends, and loved ones into danger from without and within, but still, Raylan and Boyd stick together.</p>
<p>Together, they're building something. And it sure as hell is gonna be something good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foundation

**Author's Note:**

> Before you begin, know that this fic is currently at over 50,000 words, but it is not finished. I don't know if I'll ever finish it. I want to, but... them's the breaks. I began this gorgeous incomplete thing over three years ago. I've struggled with it for so long and I really love it. But I just don't know that the end will ever come.
> 
> Now that the show is over, and because I've recently received a few messages of inquiry/encouragement, I've decided to post it here. Incomplete.
> 
> I totally understand if you don't want to go through the heartbreak of reading so much and not getting a conclusion.
> 
> Love,
> 
> Morgan

The house smelled stale when they came in. Raylan threw his keys on the table next to the door and hung his hat on the hook. It had been more than two weeks since he or Boyd had been down to stay.

Boyd’s expression was closed down as he walked past Raylan and into the kitchen. He poured himself a drink before either of them said another word. They’d had a discussion and then a long silence on the ride down.

Raylan wasn’t done with it yet, though he knew Boyd wished that he was. “You’re really gonna go back there?” he asked.

“I told you I was, Raylan. You think I was joking?”

Raylan pulled a hand through his hair. “I just don’t understand. What was the point of getting the damn degree if you’re just gonna head right back down the fucking mine?”

Boyd took a pull from his glass and met Raylan’s eyes. He’s never seen them more sure and he could tell Boyd was trying to be understanding about something, but Raylan really had no idea what that might be about. “It’s just the mine, baby, it ain’t no lifetime contract, it ain’t no death sentence--”

“It goddamn might be, Boyd, don’t tell me--”

“It’s my decision. I’ll take my chances. I told you--”

“And I don’t get a say? I thought we were done with this bullshit.”

Boyd set down his glass carefully. “You had your say, Raylan. I’ve heard your points and I’ll take them, but I decided and I’ll tell you again--Daddy’s money is all but gone. I won’t be your goddamn dependent, and I want to do my work in Harlan, but I gotta build a business here. The mine is the best place to do that. They’re gonna see me and know me there and that’s the place from where my work will come. You think I should have taken that job in London? Let this place collect dust and fall apart?”

Raylan shook his head. He knew Boyd wanted to be in Harlan, he understood that. He stepped into the room and snatched Boyd’s glass from the table, taking half of it in one gulp. “Don’t you let that place swallow you up,” he said. “Don’t let ‘em take all your time and your energy. You got bigger things, Boyd.”

Boyd smiled at him softly. “That’s what I’ve got you for, baby. I know you won’t let that happen.” He stepped around the side of the table to take the glass from Raylan’s hand and twine their fingers together. He brought Raylan’s knuckles to his lips and said to them, “”Sides, they’ll probably put me on one, two shifts a week to start, like before.”

 

“They put me on nights,” Boyd said with a crease in his brow when he returned, finding Raylan half-asleep on the couch, the local news on mute as the sun was disappearing behind the hills. “Four of them a week.”

“What?” Confusion gave way to anger across Raylan’s expression, but Boyd saw him hold himself back from saying anything like, “I told you so,” yet.

“Benny, that asshole who told me not to come back, looked happy as a clam to see me walking up to his trailer. They just lost two powdermen, one to jail the other to his heart. They’re strapped right now.” Boyd drew a hand across his eyes as Raylan made room for him. He leaned his head on Raylan’s shoulder and sighed. “I couldn’t tell him I wouldn’t do it. I gotta get that man on my good side again.”

Raylan snorted and Boyd thought about how lucky his boy was to be the kind of person who didn’t have any need or desire to play the kind of game of chess in which Boyd was preparing to engage over the next six months or so.

Boyd didn’t want to work these shifts, but he was going to have to in order to keep Benny happy and to show the men--those that were still around from two years before and the new boys since--that he was a player, that he wouldn’t shirk and he’d keep in line. He needed bonds forged if he was going to get any of those men to come to him with work, to tell family and friends he was a good man.

The one and only useful thing, aside from a well-honed gift with words and reading people, his father had instilled in him was the worth of the mine, its central role--however contentious--in the inner dealings and under workings of Harlan County. If you had ties to the mine, you had ties with everyone.

Raylan didn’t understand that. 

But Boyd wouldn’t fault him. All he knew of the mine was darkness and fear and death. Arlo had never given him anything but grief for working it, thinking he was too soft for crime, too young, too scared.

Boyd was glad Raylan saw the mine as a trap rather than a way station. He knew, seeing as he hadn’t even thought to do anything but smile and say he’d be in tomorrow night, that he’d need that reminder.

Raylan shifted a bit and pulled Boyd’s head down into his lap. He ran his long fingers through Boyd’s recently shorn hair. “I got so used to seeing you all the time, darlin’,” he said quietly.

“We knew that was over soon as they handed me the certificate,” Boyd answered, the side of his mouth pressed to Raylan’s thigh. Boyd had got a lot out of that Associate’s. He’d known a good bit before he came in, but now he had all the skills, he had connections in the capital, he knew about permits and laws and he had a business plan. He had the land too, and the last of Daddy’s money squirreled away. All he needed was Harlan behind him--at least some of it.

“The apartment’s gonna be empty without you.”

Boyd huffed a short laugh. “You think this place will be any better?”

Raylan’s fingers tightened in Boyd’s hair. “Good thing we got those unlimited minutes, huh?”

“And you said it was too much,” he murmured, twisting around to look up at his boy’s face.

Raylan let go of his hair and drew his palm down to Boyd’s cheek. There was a resigned sadness in his eyes that had never once been there when they’d done this before, the only on weekends kind of relationship.

“You think it was a misjudgement, my coming up to Lexington, staying away from here?” Boyd didn’t think it was, but he wanted to hear Raylan say it.

Raylan smiled, like he knew just what Boyd was thinking, and shook his head. “I think it was what we needed. It’ll be hard to do this again, we both know that. But we can do it.”

Raylan had come a long way.

Boyd reached up and Raylan bent down and they made out on the dusty couch for close to an hour before they made it to the bedroom.

 

In the middle of the next week, Rachel came to Raylan with an anonymous tip that a known pedophile was holing up in Harlan.

“Art said to ask if you wanted to ride along whenever we got stuff going on down there near the weekend,” she said.

“It’s Thursday,” Raylan told her.

She shrugged. “Near enough and...”

“You rather have me along anyway?” he asked with a smile.

“Maybe,” she answered, hardly indifferent, and he decided not to tease her anymore. He knew how people down there could be.

Still, he pointed a finger at her, backing up to his desk to grab his hat and jacket, “You see that there? My detective skills at work.”

“Come on, asshole,” she laughed and Art waved them out from his office.

They took separate cars down and met at Raylan’s house. Raylan knew Boyd should have been sleeping, on account of his crazy new schedule. He’d planned on coming in for a quick minute, just to leave a note. He told Rachel to come on in behind him and immediately regretted it as Boyd padded down the stairs, shirtless, hair mussed from sleep, but eyes wide awake, a gun in his hand, pointed down at the floor.

“Shit,” Boyd breathed when he saw who it was and Raylan didn’t like how on edge he was looking in that moment.

“We’re doing this again?” Raylan asked, unable to get the sharpness from his tone.

Boyd blinked at him, then glanced over at Rachel, whose eyes were stuck on his bare shoulder. He looked back at Raylan. Boyd didn’t say anything about what Rachel was looking at and Raylan was glad. Shit, he’d never thought he’d have to explain that to anyone at work but Art. His boss had assured him they didn’t need to see Boyd’s file. He wasn’t even sure Tim knew he had one. 

Boyd stuffed the gun into the back of his waistband and said, “Some boys said some things at work. They’re blowhards, you know how it is, but I... thought I’d be careful.”

Raylan was very sure that was a extra dose of sugar-coating, but he didn’t call Boyd on it just then. “We’re looking into a pedo, working for somebody in the county. You hear about anything like that?”

Boyd shook his head. Then frowned, carefully not looking at Rachel another time. “Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” Raylan said. “I was gonna leave a note.”

Boyd quirked his lip, but couldn’t seem to muster a smile. “Don’t bother next time, baby. It’ll be better for the both of us,” he said and turned, climbing up the stairs.

Rachel was giving him a death glare.

“Well, let’s go,” Raylan sighed. “You drive, I’ll tell you, okay?”

She just walked out with her very fast, very clipped, I’m-so-pissed-but-I-won’t-say-so stride.

When they got to the car, she put the keys in the ignition, turned to him and said, “I’m not driving anywhere until you tell me something about that tattoo on your boyfriend that sounds reasonable. Just one thing, Raylan. And then I will drive and you can tell me the whole damn story.”

Raylan looked at her hard for maybe more than a minute, thinking very carefully about what she would and would not take. He understood her anger. She and Boyd weren’t really friends, but he knew they liked each other at least a little, had known each other for years now in at least some capacity. You don’t see a thing like that on someone you thought you knew and not feel betrayal, as well as disgust, fear, and a million other things.

“You remember when Boyd’s daddy died, and he had me up at that cabin and I pulled my gun on Art?” Raylan had never, ever spoken of this to anyone in the office. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to admit it had happened... or maybe it was, but it was also an intensely private matter. As he looked at Rachel, though, he thought now was the time to make a big, shocking analogy.

She gave him a look like he knew very well that she did, though she also sat back in surprise at the change in subject.

“That day,” Raylan said slowly, carefully choosing his words, “I did something I sincerely regret, in reaction to a... trauma I received. My reaction affected more than just the people who inflicted that trauma.”

Rachel’s brows arched in disbelief. “You’re telling me, there’s a swastika the size of my hand on Boyd Crowder’s shoulder because someone tied him to a chair and beat him?”

Raylan stiffened at the implication that that was all that had happened to him on that day, as well as at the fact that he was pretty sure Rachel was deliberately misunderstanding him. But he still understood why she was upset, why she wasn’t listening with her usual level of deductive reasoning. “No, I’m telling you, someone hurt Boyd a long time ago, hurt him bad enough he didn’t know what to do with all the pain he was feeling. Boys like him--like us--don’t have a lot of options in Harlan.”

“It’s the mine or the KKK?”

Raylan smiled weakly. “It’s the mine or the life of an outlaw, and you can pick your poison on the second one. Boyd’s daddy ran the racket, and Boyd didn’t want to be his daddy.”

“So he resorted to racism?”

“It gets a lot done around these parts,” Raylan replied with a grimace. “Gets you cheap muscle and young hotheads. Boyd was smart enough use it to get them to do what he wanted.”

“That’s disgusting,” she said, jutting her jaw like there was bile rising up in her throat.

“Nobody’s past is pretty,” Raylan said. 

“That’s no excuse.”

“I’m not trying to make any. You asked for an explanation,” Raylan said as Rachel turned the car on. “Shit, the first time I saw that fucking tattoo--” he broke off. He’s was pretty sure Rachel didn’t want to hear about their first time.

As she pulled out of the drive and down the hill, Rachel asked him quietly. “How long was he in it?”

“Just so you know, it wasn’t the KKK exactly. It was this para-military thing--”

“Oh, that makes me feel a lot better.”

“They specialized in petty thievery, alleged bank robbing,” Raylan said, forging on. “He was in it for maybe three years, best I can tell. He doesn’t talk to me about it.”

Rachel nodded as she watched the road, shot her eyes quick him then back. “Art said you boys had a thing about the past. I never pushed asking about it.” She frowned, as if considering something.

“What?”

“What made him get out?” she asked. “From what I heard it can be almost as dangerous trying to leave those kind of organizations as being one of their targets.”

Raylan looked over at her as they rolled to a stop sign and she looked right back into his eyes. “I did,” he said, simply.

Her lips tightened like that was the answer she’d been expecting. “What was it that hurt him, before?”

Raylan looked out the windshield then and Rachel drove on. “That was me, too,” he said.

A few minutes later, Rachel murmured, “Lord Jesus, it’s like some kind of gothic romance. I always thought Art was exaggerating about you and your goddamn drama, Raylan.”

Raylan laughed. “Honey, that ain’t even the half of it.”

 

After that, they talked about the man they’re after, one Jimmy Earl Dean, sex offender, charged with statutory rape, reported for harassing a teenage girl. Rachel told him somebody called the State tip line and they met Trooper Tom Bergen, a man Raylan had the pleasure of working with on a few previous occasions.

“Where we goin’, Tom?” Raylan asked as they met up on the side of the crossroads near the Bennett/Harlan line.

“We got the call from a man named McCready,” Tom said and Raylan winced. “You know him?”

“Boyd does. Better than me, anyway,” Raylan said and Tom nodded, he was one of the men who was there the day Bo Crowder died. “Used to work with him down the mine. It’s his girl this guy’s been creepin’ on? Loretta?”

“Can’t say what the girl’s name is, but I expect,” Tom answered. “He lives just down this holler. He’s got a bit of land tucked back there, I wouldn’t be surprised if he was growing.”

“Boyd told me his wife took sick maybe a year and a half back. He quit the mine after that.” Raylan grimaced. “Got to make the mortgage somehow.”

Rachel and Tom gave him equally skeptical looks that both rolled right off his back. It’s not like he was the one growing the weed.

When they drove down to talk to McCready, Raylan tried to be nice and friendly at his door, talking about Boyd and how he was back at the mine now and how they were sorry to hear about Sarah Ann, Walt’s late wife. Raylan felt like he had the license, since they’d seen Walt and his family down at the Dairy Queen a few times before Boyd starting staying in Lexington so much more, what with school. They were just catching up. But, the whole time, McCready’s eyes were on Tom and Rachel and their respective badges, even though Raylan was the one doing all the talking.

Finally he got around to the tip line and how it wasn’t really anonymous and how they were looking for the man McCready called about. How the man was dangerous and they needed to get him off the streets for violating his parole.

He shut the door in their faces, just after mumbling, “Sorry, Raylan. Good to see ya.”

Rachel looked perplexed and Tom resigned as they walked back to the cars and Raylan asked about Dean’s employment status. When it came out that “Green Mountain ATV” was one of the Bennett’s cover operations Raylan almost threw his hat. “ _Shit_ ” he and Tom ground out in unison.

“Who are the Bennetts?” Rachel asked doubtfully.

Raylan put a hand to his mouth, looking down at the ground as Tom answered, “Local crime family. Premiere pot growers. They’re hard to pin down, still crazy as all these--”

“Now, Tom,” Raylan said. “I do live here half the time.”

“Well, what do _you_ know about them then, Raylan?” Rachel’s voice was sharp, still stinging with the revelation of Boyd’s past.

“I was hopin’ I could go another four years at least bein’ back in Kentucky and not have to deal with the goddamn Bennetts,” Raylan replied. He looked up at her, then over to Tom who was considering him carefully. “Our families have some... bad blood between us.”

“That going to be a problem for you?” Rachel asked, brows raised.

Raylan walked to the car, taking the driver’s seat this time and holding his hand out for the keys. “Let’s find out,” he said and he saw his partner suppress a sigh before she handed them over.

 

They drove over to the general store in Bennett. Raylan couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there. As he got out of the car a young girl in a dirty tank top and weed-stained overalls came out of the place carrying a bag of flour in her skinny arms.

Raylan smiled at her and she stopped, looking at him with her sharp eyes. He hadn’t seen her in two years, at least. They’d never actually spoken a word to each other, it was always Boyd and Walt doing the talking, but he figured she’d remember him.

“Marshal Givens,” she said politely.

“Miss Loretta,” he returned, just the same. “You bringing that home to your daddy?”

“I am,” she answered, then asked in a much lower tone, “You talk to him today?”

Before Raylan could answer, Mags herself came out of the store, carrying her weight with the proud tilt of her chin, just as Raylan remembered, eyes just as sharp as Loretta’s but wiser, craftier. “Child, don’t you know a federal when you see one? You run along now, let this officer with the drug enforcement go about his weed sniffin’ business.” Raylan understood why Tom hated the hollers so much. This kind of shit could get _old_.

Loretta’s smile quirked just a bit. It was a rare thing getting one over on old Mags, so Raylan let her soak in it. He winked at her, letting her know it was cool, before she said, “Now, ma’am, I’m not sure these two look like DEA to me. I think they might be marshals. Though, I can’t say for certain what their business is hereabouts.”

Mags put her hands on her hips, frowning, as Raylan cut in, “Oh, we just stand around sniffin’ the flowers ‘til we catch a whiff of any wanted felons may come our way.”

Mags got a double look at him and then she was all smiles. “Raylan Givens,” she said, like he was her favorite goddamn person on God’s green earth.

“Ms. Bennett,” he returned.

“Well, I know you ain’t been gone so long from these parts you got to be so formal with the likes of ol’ Mags,” she told him. 

“I just wasn’t sure where I stood, Mags,” Raylan said, putting his smile on just as thick as hers. “I should introduce,” he said, motioning to Rachel, “Deputy Rachel Brooks. There’s a matter we’d appreciate bein’ able to talk to you about today, if you don’t mind.”

“You know Marshal Givens, Loretta?” Mags asked the girl, nothing hard in her eyes or voice. Raylan wondered where she hid it, whatever she was feeling about him from the past and about the girl knowing a bit more than she regarding who was standing on her threshold.

“We used to run into Loretta and her mama and daddy sometimes at the Dairy Queen a few years back,” Raylan answered, deflecting whatever ire was brewing right back onto himself. “We ain’t been in Harlan too much since then though, just the occasional weekend, here and there. You was about five inches shorter, at least, last time we saw you, Loretta.”

“You _did_ ,” Mags said, almost curiously, the ‘you’ coming out with a hard plural. Raylan wasn’t fool enough to think she wouldn’t know about him and Boyd--he always did wonder what her thoughts on the matter would be, though it wasn’t like he ever wanted to know so bad he’d come out to her damn holler and risk seeing Dickie, or Doyle, or the younger one, Coover. He heard that boy needed a leash.

Loretta smiled crooked and looked away, tightening her arms around that bag of flour. “I got to go,” she mumbled, then glanced up fast at Raylan, “You’ll tell Boyd I said, ‘hey’?”

Raylan nodded. “I’ll tell him for your daddy, too.”

The girl nodded, a bit uncertainly at Mags, then Rachel, and turned on her way. Raylan now had a firm desire to get his hands on Jimmy Earl Dean.

When he looked back at Mags, her mouth looked like someone had tried to twist it off her face. Raylan wished he had the freedom, or the balls even, to ask her what had got it that way. Instead, he smiled and she smiled and she invited him in, piling on the tantalizing allure of her famous apple pie.

That, Raylan would never say no to, even if she had decided to breathe a word about him and Boyd or him and Dickie or whatever other reason she had in her mind to withhold from him even the time of the goddamn day. 

They were both playing a game, but at least he’d get a good swig of ‘shine out of it.

They chatted about nothing for a while and he gave her copious compliments on the booze. They got into it a bit on the weed and she went to town on him with her high and mighty, I’m-just-helpin’-these-poor-people routine until he said he and the United States Marshal Service didn’t give a damn unless the DEA had her pinned.

She moved on, then, to his family. How she and his granddaddy, who he could only recall as a very old, very quiet man who spent a lot of time on the porch looking upset, used to cook and sell ‘shine together. That must have been before she was married, because Raylan never saw hide nor hair of her as a young person, and he thought Pervis Bennett probably wouldn’t have been too keen to have his wife on the property of a Givens man. 

Raylan smiled politely, and glanced over, trying to detect how much more of this Rachel might be able to take. When he looked back, Mags had a strange expression on her face, like she wanted to tell him something, but knew it wouldn’t be a good idea. She said, “Now, you know the reason why I can’t be too sorry about your daddy’s passin’, Raylan.”

Raylan did not know exactly why. He figured it was something to do with the feud--about which he was hoping he wouldn’t have to say much more to Rachel--but Helen, and even Arlo to a certain extent, were always very closed-mouthed with him over what had gone on in their younger days. Now, Raylan was fairly glad for that. He and Boyd didn’t need any other family shit turning their lives around.

“But, I was fair surprised to hear about you comin’ back to these parts. I don’t think you’d take too much offense to me sayin’, I hoped you’d stay gone, even with that man buried,” she continued.

Raylan wasn’t too sure what she was trying to get at with this, so he shrugged and said, going as close to broaching the subject as he thought polite, seeing as she hadn’t mentioned Boyd at all. “Well, Mags, I imagine you got a good idea what my motivation was to come home. You’ll notice, though, I didn’t make no special effort to come out here for a visit until now, though I been livin’ very close by for nearly five years now.”

Her eyes went a little hard at that and she said in a rather clipped tone, “Well, what are you here for then, Raylan?”

“Yeah, Raylan, what are you here for?” 

Raylan turned to see Doyle at the door, hand near his badge. Doyle Bennett the goddamn cop. He supposed it was just as weird for other people, thinking about him as a federal. Raylan thought he’d be able to get over it easier, if he didn’t know for sure Doyle kept his department in his mother’s back pocket. It was her older brother who served in the Sheriff position until the day he passed it on to Doyle. Boyd had told him about it with a laugh one weekend when he’d been visiting from Salt Lake. Shit, that had been a long time ago.

Raylan put his smile back on, but he saw Rachel shift and knew it looked fake as hell. “Well, hello, Doyle,” he cried, shaking the man’s hand.

“Been a long time, Raylan,” he said. “I’m surprised though, you haven't made it down to this holler yet on your hat-wearing, quickdraw tour of Eastern Kentucky.” At Raylan’s blank look, he added, with a rib in his voice, “You and that hat are famous, son. ‘Specially after all that shit with the Crowders blew up, what was it, three years ago?”

Mags made a huffing noise of impatience tied in with disgust.

Raylan shifted slightly away from the counter and got his hand nearer his hip. “It’s just over two. I read after in the State’s report, you guys down here picked up the BOLO on Boyd, not ten miles from where--”

“Yeah, I think we had some shit goin’ on down here. Mama, wasn’t that the day the dead buck Leland Burkle strapped to his truck wasn’t really dead, caused an accident down in… where was that now?”

“Kent Holler, “Mags said. “I do believe it was.” 

They all knew it wasn’t anything that called for three cruisers and five officers to roll up to. If Bennett had been involved in the search for Boyd, they might have found him before he had to blow up that semi and those Cubans wouldn’t have died and Raylan might have got out of there before Bo--

“So, you’re still...”

“Still _what_?” Raylan asked in a tone like death. Whatever Doyle was about to say, Raylan was ready to deck him, badge or no.

But Rachel slid her hand between them, holding the photo of Jimmy Earl Dean, and said, “We’re here today to ask if you’ve seen this man recently.”

“Who is he?” Doyle asked and Raylan couldn’t tell if he really didn’t know or not.

“Jimmy Earl Dean. Sex offender, outside his zone, reported to be harassing a young girl nearby.” Raylan said, pushing down his ruffled feathers. He couldn’t imagine Rachel thinking it would be a good idea to bring him back into Harlan any time in the near future.

“That why you’re comin’ around here for him?” Doyle’s tone was suspicious.

“That and also on account we believe he works for you.” Raylan looked right at Mags as he answered.

She stood up straighter at that. “You see him around here?”

“No, but we’re thinkin’ your sons might have taken him on.” Raylan smirked. “Not the upstanding Doyle, here, but maybe Coover or Dickie.”

“My tads would never do such a thing,” Mags ground out. “We’re reefer farmers, Raylan, we don’t consort with _sexual deviants_.” She looked him up and down as she spoke and Raylan heard a roaring in his ears.

Rachel didn’t touch him, but she did edge closer as she replied sweetly, “If it’s all the same, ma’am, we’d like very much to talk to your...tads about this man. Where can we find them?”

Raylan kept a hold of himself, but knew he wasn’t going to be saying anything else to either of them.

Mags’ smile was very small and very strained. “You’ll have to hunt ‘em down. I’m not sure where they got to today. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she said. 

Raylan stepped back as she passed, reminding Doyle to pay for whatever he took. Every part of Raylan was very still, but coiled tight. He wasn’t quite sure her words reflected what she really thought of him and Boyd, but she’d delivered a slap in the face to him regardless, one Raylan hadn’t felt in a while and clearly hadn’t been expecting.

Doyle’s attitude had been toned down a bit by the simmering tension in the air and he quietly gave Rachel a few places to start looking. They were all crossroads and names of hollers and as Rachel wrote them down her face echoed sincere confusion.

“I’m sure Raylan knows the best way to get down there,” Doyle said, almost projecting some kind of empathy. “I’d go with you, but, plain clothes’ll tell you, today’s my day off.”

“Still drivin’ the company car, though, I see.” It came out more like a growl than real words from Raylan’s mouth.

Doyle snorted. “We’ll, I hope you won’t turn me in for misappropriation, Raylan. I didn’t think the Marshal’s end of the Treasury got a stick quite so far up their collective asses as Secret Service does.”

Raylan stopped himself from rolling his eyes. It was big talk for a man who probably never had to deal with either branch before today.

“I’m sure I’ll see you around, Raylan. Ma’am,” Doyle said before they could respond. He looked around at the store then winked in their general direction, “And if you want anything, go right on ahead. Leave a note, and I’ll pick up the tab.”

As he drove away, Raylan took a soda out of the cooler. He didn’t leave any note either.

 

They found the Bennett boys at the second place they looked. After it was obvious that the place Doyle said they probably were hadn’t been occupied in at least a year, Raylan pulled out Rachel’s list, scanned down to the bottom and said, “I bet you it’s this one.”

The place was a ranch-style house, dilapidated and dirty. There was shit in the yard and pricker-bushes growing across the chain link fence. Rachel pulled slowly up the drive and they both got out together.

Dickie came out first and Raylan wasn’t surprised to see he looked about the same as he ever had, still scrawny and gangly, still wearing some shitty thrift store crap straight out of the seventies and fingerless gloves like some kind of hobo. Raylan almost smiled, just because it was so familiar, but then he caught the limp.

Raylan had never seen Dickie Bennett walk with that limp. He’d heard about it, but just because people wouldn’t stop talking, especially Arlo. Raylan couldn’t stand it after a while. He’d never wanted to do anything his daddy approved of so heartily. And now, looking at Dickie hop around like that and thinking about that goddamn swing, it shot something like guilt down Raylan’s back. But still he forced the smile. He wouldn’t ever show Dickie that kind of weakness. The boy _had_ hit him in the head with a fastball for God’s sake.

And then came the gunfire, echoing through the holler, coming somewhere from inside or behind the house.

“Raylan Givens,” Dickie said, voice smooth like always.

“Hey, Dickie,” Raylan replied. A shot rang out again. Rachel looked like she was ready to jump back in the car, or shoot somebody.

“Aw, that’s just Coover, shootin’ rats,” Dickie said.

Raylan said something about shooting rats out of shit houses and the state of Dickie’s kitchen. It rolled of the man’s back, as expected.

Dickie kind of shuffled around a bit as he spoke, clearly wondering what they were doing there--or putting on a show that he was-- but not quite curious enough to come out and ask. Raylan wanted Coover to hear what they had to say too, so he let the pointed small talk come right at him. “I heard you been back for a while,” Dickie said.

Raylan already had his hand near his firearm. “Did you?”

Dickie smiled, knowing and sort of mean, like whatever he thought he knew about Raylan was some kind of secret. “Heard some other things too.”

“I bet you did.”

Dickie gave him this weird look and Rachel let out a long sigh. Raylan also bet she was real tired of this shit. He was too, but he had sort of signed up for it. She hadn’t. He wondered if this would be the last time she asked him to come out to Harlan with her.

Dickie kind of shrugged his shoulders, not like he didn’t care, but more like he was grasping for something to say. “You boys was always hangin’ out together quite a bit, I ‘member thinkin’.”

Raylan remembered Dickie called every boy on the Evarts baseball team a fag, too. There wasn’t anything special about the way Raylan and Boyd were when Dickie was around to see them. That was way too early for their time together.

But Raylan shrugged, too, and crooked his lips, saying easily, “That we were, Dickie.” 

It was then Coover emerged with a rat tail--complete with buck-shot rat attached--between his stubby fingers.

Raylan had never spoken to Coover Bennett before. He was years younger than Dickie and Doyle, young enough Raylan had never traveled in circles in which the boy would have had any contact. He had heard things, though, and they were all confirmed when he looked into the half-blank, almost animal-like eyes of the youngest Bennett boy.

“Who’s this?” Coover asked his brother, waving that rat around like a pride flag.

“This is Raylan Givens,” Dicke said in a patient tone, like one you’d use to an unruly child you really did love a lot. “He’s from around here, ‘riginally. But now he’s a federal.”

Raylan smiled at the word. Mags had used it too, in the same way. _Federal_ , like he was something dirty. They said it same way one of them was going to call him a fag in just a second or two. Raylan counted down.

“You mean that Evarts asshole, left town, sold-out, then came back to shack up with what’s-his-face Crowder?” Coover’s voice was coated in contempt and there was no trace of uncertainty there either. It made Raylan wonder how often his name came up in Bennett household conversation, even after all these years.

Raylan kept his tone light, answering before Dickie could. “That he does, Coover, though I’d like to add, I also got me this nice hat while I was busy sellin’ out to the government and if you wanna get real particular, Boyd’s shackin’ up with me, not the other way ‘round, seeing as it’s my property we’re livin’ on.”

“Well, are you here then,” Coover said, very slowly, walking forward in an aggressive manner, leaving no avenue for Raylan or Rachel to mistake him, “to ask me if I been smokin’ reefer?” He swung that rat around some more and let it fly. 

Raylan didn’t let himself tilt his head away, he was sure it would pass over him, but the smell did smack him right in the face. The damn thing landed on the hood of his car with a thud and rolled off like a two pound hailstone. 

“Coover, you throw a rat on my car, I’m gonna start to wonder just what your intentions are towards me and my partner, here,” Raylan said carefully, really talking to Dickie. “Now, you don’t want that, do you?”

It took a whole minute to talk the boy down while Raylan came to the conclusion that it wasn’t just a leash Coover Bennett needed, it was a goddamn muzzle.

They denied having employed Jimmy Earl Dean, then backtracked and said he’d been fired. They didn’t know his whereabouts. Raylan wasn’t surprised at all. There was no way he or Rachel would be allowed on the premises to search for the man, so he didn’t bother asking. 

The point was made moot soon after as Rachel received a call from Bergen saying Walt McCready had reported his daughter missing and that she may have been gone for more than an hour already.

They rolled out of there, fast as possible, and, as he drove, Raylan called Boyd.

“Hey, baby,” Boyd answered on the third ring in a subdued, tired voice. “You find what you were lookin’ for?”

“Unfortunately, no. Boyd, this asshole picked up Loretta McCready. She’s the one he’s been harassing.”

There was silence for a moment over the line and Raylan almost said Boyd’s name again. “Why are you telling me this, Raylan? What do you think I can do?” The question really was, what do you want me to do and what don’t you, but Boyd wasn’t going to ask it in those words.

Truth was, Raylan didn’t even know for sure. He’d wanted Boyd to know and he’d wanted to be the one to tell him. He wanted Boyd to want to help, but the harder he thought about it, the less it seemed like a good idea. Boyd had a soft spot for this girl and soft spots meant real hard edges to protect them.

“You don’t want me near that man, Raylan,” Boyd said softly. 

Rachel shifted in her seat and Raylan knew that she could hear him on the other end of the line. Goddamn cell phones and their quality speakers.

“No, I don’t,” he answered. 

“I’ll get in touch with Johnny, all right?”

“He wouldn’t know, this little shit is a Bennett man.”

There was a muffled curse and the unmistakable sounds of Boyd slipping out of bed, trudging down the hall and stairs. “He might have heard anyway,” Boyd’s voice was strained. They hated talking about Johnny these days. “I’ll call if he has anything.”

“Okay.” Raylan glanced over at Rachel, but her eyes were out the window.

“Baby, you call me as soon as you get her, okay?”

“Yeah, I will. You know me, darlin’.”

Boyd laughed. They only ever resorted to that tired little phrase when they were in neutral or unfriendly company. “You still got Rachel in the car with you?”

“I do and I’m pretty sure she can hear you talkin’.”

“Well, I would like her to know, then, that I am real sorry about the other thing. I assume you tried your best to explain?”

“Well, I was forced to use some words I don’t like much, but I think I did okay. She didn’t drive us off the road out of pure rage or anything.” Rachel stifled a laugh.

“I’m glad to hear it, baby.”

Rachel’s phone rang then and she said, “It’s Tom,” before answering.

“I got to go, Boyd. We might have something.” He said, “Love you,” and hung up before Boyd could say anything else.

Tom told them the man’s car had been sighted by a traffic camera maybe ten minutes from where they were, heading toward the Virginia Line.

 

Johnny had nothing.

He said so, very directly, over the phone and Boyd believed him. He was apologetic and Boyd waved him off, sounding short of temper and feeling it.

Boyd tried not to think too ponderously on either his affection for little Loretta McCready and her so recently grieving father, or on the things which he might like to do to Jimmy Earl Dean, should he ever have the extreme pleasure of meeting him. He passed the seemingly endless minutes waiting for Raylan’s call with three fingers of bourbon, scowling at the phone.

He remembered the last time he’d seen the McCreadys, with Raylan at the Dairy Queen almost two years ago. 

They’d been in Harlan for the weekend in early September, right after Boyd had started classes. He’d been feeling a bit unmoored, starting up in a new place, attending classes with eighteen year old kids and former high school drop outs, so Raylan had suggested ice cream--though he would have anyway eventually.

They’d got their customary orders and were sitting at one of the picnic tables, Raylan on the seat, Boyd next to him on the actual table, when Loretta and Walt had walked past, going to the window from their car.

Boyd had waved hello and he and Walt exchanged pleasantries, and the news that Sarah Ann had been feeling poorly recently, while Loretta had looked Raylan over, from hat to badge and gun, and smiled at him shyly.

Boyd couldn’t resist a dig. “Now Loretta,” he’d said to her, “don’t tell me you’re cultivating a soft spot for the law. That’s a dangerous gamble for a girl from Harlan.”

She’d looked at him with sharp eyes and a stubborn mouth, clearly not thrilled with his noticing her gaze on Raylan, though to her credit, she didn’t blush. She said, “Seems like it’d be an even more dangerous gamble for a Harlan man, Mr. Crowder.”

He grinned, replied, “Call me Boyd,” and didn’t gainsay her. 

He briefly wondered if it had been her father’s casual acceptance, or just something of her own, that made her one of the few young people in the town who didn’t follow the prevailing example and give them a wide berth or a leering smirk in public spaces. Either way, he and Raylan both liked the girl.

She nodded, her face set in a serious expression. “I keep my cultivatin’ to the ground for the most part, anyway.”

Raylan had laughed out loud at that and Walt had looked guilty and harried as he ushered her on.

And now she was on the road with a pedophile. Boyd felt sick.

His phone rang just as he finished the liquor and he saw it was Raylan before he quickly flipped it open. “Hey,” he said breathless.

“We got him,” Raylan told him, sounding tired, but pleased. “He had her in the trunk, but she’s fine. No gunfire, either.”

Boyd smiled. “How’d you manage that?”

“Must be Rachel’s good influence,” he deadpanned. Boyd heard her scoff in the background. “Listen,” Raylan continued, sounding more hesitant. “Walt caught up with us. He’s with her now, but he said something to me. He doesn’t want her at home tonight. He said bad memories for her from today, but I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’s worried Mags’ll be pissed he called that tip line?” It was common to take retribution for snitching, but when it was sex offenders, especially with children, Boyd knew most would turn a blind eye.

Raylan sighed. “I tried to press him, but he wouldn’t say. Then he asked if we’d take her. Said he knew she’d be safe with us.”

Boyd frowned. “What did you tell him?”

“You didn’t think I’d say ‘no’, did you?”

“I really can’t say, Raylan. I was not anticipating such a situation as this one. Are whatever authorities you have assembled there going to be all right with you just driving away with the victim of a kidnapping?”

“Generally, they wouldn’t be. Which is why you’re going to come, pick up Walt and Loretta, then drop him off at his place, go on with her to the house.”

Boyd almost bristled at the tone Raylan was using, but he tamped it down. Tensions were high, he wasn’t thinking about it.

He told Raylan he'd be there in a half hour.

 

It seemed as though everything official had been resolved by the time Boyd arrived at the gas station Raylan had mentioned.

Boyd didn’t do anything so untoward as embrace Raylan when he saw him, but he did let his hand fall to rest on Raylan’s tense shoulder. He smiled at Loretta, who didn’t look surprised to see him, and then at Walt who looked relieved.

Raylan had a few more things to do, though he did say he would stay the night in Harlan, and would be along later. So Boyd and the McCready’s made for the truck, Walt repeating, “Thank you so much, Boyd,” until Boyd stopped saying it was nothing.

Loretta looked confused and Boyd wondered if anyone had told her what the plan was. He didn’t think it was his place to ask.

They had a tearful conversation three feet from Boyd’s truck after Walt got out at their home, saying she should go on tonight with Boyd, who kept his hands tight on the wheel and his eyes straight ahead through the whole ordeal. Loretta slammed the door of the passenger seat when she climbed back in.

She stared at him hard and he looked back at her unflinching. “I don’t understand,” she said plaintively.

“What did he tell you?”

She wiped messily at her nose, eyes still wet. She said, “That he don’t want me at home tonight. That I’ll be safe with you.”

“Well, the second thing is right, honey. Your daddy wouldn’t tell Raylan whether he was worried for your safety ‘cause of all this Jimmy Earl Dean business or if it was something else, but _I’ll_ tell you, we’re gonna figure it out. Everyone’s had a real long day, though, so let’s just get to our house and to bed and take another look in the morning, okay?” Boyd kept his voice very even and very sincere and he only rolled out of the drive once he saw Loretta nod and move to buckle her seat belt up.

She was asleep by the time they made it to the house.

Raylan was there already, just stepping out of the Town Car, looking tired and worn with his hat low on his brow. Boyd felt his lips thin into a straight line. He hadn’t seen Raylan so agitated over a case in quite a while.

Loretta jerked awake and away from his touch when he attempted to pull her from the truck. He shushed her quietly and he thought for a moment she might begin to cry, but her mouth hardened and she climbed from the vehicle on her own. As they walked from the drive to the house, she leaned steadily closer to him and he laid a hand across her shoulder.

Raylan met them on the porch and didn’t look at either of them as he unlocked the door.

“Loretta, you’ll sleep up the stairs and to the right,” Boyd murmured, taking off his jacket. “Go on up and I’ll get a shirt for you to change into.”

Loretta looked between them for a moment, perhaps wanting to ask a question, but seemingly at a loss for words. Raylan looked down at her and smiled as he took off his hat, hanging it on the hook next to the door. She held herself very still, as though she were fighting a desire to rush forward and embrace him, but only turned up the stairs, saying a quiet, “Thank you,” and grasping tightly at the bannister.

“I need a drink,” Raylan mumbled, rubbing at his eyes. He was about to head for the kitchen, but Boyd grabbed at his hand and pulled him close, swift and hard. Raylan let out a little grunt of surprise, but didn’t pull away, pressing his face to Boyd’s shoulder and putting his hands, only lightly, on Boyd’s waist.

“Okay?” Boyd asked him, lips at his ear.

“I never thought we were gonna lose her, but I... if he had touched her--”

“He didn’t, did he?”

“She says no,” Raylan answered pulling away. “Said he was in hurry, didn’t take the time. She’s--she’s a hard one.”

Boyd smiled at him. “We always said that about her.”

“Does it make you feel good? Bein’ right all the time?” Raylan asked.

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m not so happy, finding out in these circumstances. But, a little. Yeah.” He pulled Raylan in once more for a soft, dry kiss on the lips, then looked at him and smiled wryly. “Go get your drink. I’ll pull out one of your old flannels for her and see if she wants anything.”

“Not sure she’s eaten all day,” Raylan said. “Not sure if she’ll want to now, though.”

“I’ll ask,” Boyd said, heading for the stairs.

Raylan considered him, suddenly frowning, so Boyd stopped, mid-turn. 

“What?”

“You all right? Sittin’ ‘round here. Waitin’ for word. That couldn’t have been... great.”

Boyd smiled, pleased Raylan wasn’t so tied up in his shit day to think for a moment about Boyd’s. This was light-years away from where they’d been the last time a crisis had become so personal. Boyd almost kissed him again, but he thought of Loretta, probably just sitting on the dusty bed waiting for him and so he just shook his head and said, “I’ve been through worse. I’m glad you called, baby.”

“I just--wanted you to know.” Raylan was still frowning. “I realized when I was telling you, wasn’t anything you could do, but--”

“It’s all right, Raylan. I get it,” Boyd murmured then motioned toward the stairs. “Let me go get her the shirt and I’ll come back down and we can talk--”

Raylan waved him off. “Nah, darlin’, I just want the drink and I’ll come upstairs with it. I’m beat.”

“All right.”

Loretta wasn’t hungry, in fact she was almost asleep again by the time Boyd came in with the shirt for her. She smiled at him weakly and said “thank you” one more time. He was about to leave her alone, his hand on the doorknob, when she said, “Boyd,” a question in her tone.

“Yeah, honey?”

“How come we ain’t seen you in so long?”

Boyd saw the sincerity in her confusion and felt gratified that perhaps their occasional interactions at the Dairy Queen had made as much of an impression on her as it had on Raylan and him. 

Boyd had no doubts where he stood now with Walt--they worked the mine together and the man had asked them to care for his daughter, even if it was for just one night. But he had always wondered how it was Loretta viewed them, either as another oddity like so many in Harlan seemed to now, or as real friends of her family, people she would miss seeing once it had been a while since they’d crossed paths.

“We were spending a lot more time in Lexington, where Raylan’s office is,” he explained. “I got my degree there. We came up some on the weekends, but nothing like when I was workin’ with your daddy at the mine.”

She looked down, fidgeting with her overalls. “You know he don’t work there no more. He had to take care of Mama and now he--” She cut herself off and Boyd was glad.

“We were sure sore to hear about your mama, Loretta.”

“Raylan said that too.” She tightened her lips into something like a smile.

Boyd nodded. “Well, we both mean it. And I’m back at the mine now for a bit and I’ll be stayin’ here in Harlan again all the time. So, if you ever need anything, past sleepin’ here tonight and me taking you to school tomorrow, you let me know, okay? I’ll be here.”

“Okay, Boyd,” she said.

He closed the door softly behind him and met Raylan in the hallway, glass in hand, tie undone. Boyd smiled at him. “Apparently, she missed us.”

“She say that?” Raylan asked, going through to the bedroom. He set his glass down on the dresser and began to undress.

“Not in so many words,” Boyd answered, joining him in both the room and the activity. He stepped in close, pulled Raylan’s tie from his neck.

He reached down, fingers sliding into Raylan’s unzipped fly when his boy suddenly said, “We’re on the Bennetts’ radar now.”

Boyd frowned, mood broken, and he immediately pulled away, sitting down heavily on the bed. “Which one?”

Raylan shrugged, looking down at his glass, leaving it untouched. “All of them.”

“You talked to all three them boys and their mama today?”

“I did.”

Boyd laid back and laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Baby, come here,” he said after a moment, holding out his hands. “No wonder you’re dead on your feet.”

Raylan chuckled softly and climbed on top of him, clad only in a pair of sweats he’d slipped on. “I always sort of wondered what Mags might think of you and me. Not so much I’d go and ask. Found out today, she’s not too keen.”

Boyd pulled Raylan down and to the right, so they could lay close and talk. “She say that?”

“Not in so many words,” Raylan said, closing his eyes. Then he opened them, tensing, as if suddenly awakened to danger. “Just keep an eye out, all right? Walt’s got something going on with them. Probably weed--isn’t anything else they’ve got their hands in these days, ‘sides her ‘shine.”

“You think they’re why he don’t want Loretta there tonight?”

“Might be.” Raylan’s eyes were grave. “Mags is an old snake in the grass, she’s too smart to do anything’s gonna call attention and Doyle picked up a lot of her over the years, I think. But Dickie and Coover--you were right, Boyd, that youngest needs a leash and Dickie ain’t strong enough to hold it.”

Boyd smiled, despite the dark subjects. “Does it make _you_ feel good or bad? Me bein’ right all the time, I mean.”

Raylan grinned, said, “It’s fairly helpful, darlin’,” and kissed him soundly.

They had left the door cracked just a bit and they both stiffened and broke apart as they heard a creak of the floorboards, just outside of it.

Boyd thought about calling out to Loretta, asking her what time she was supposed to be at school in the morning. But he knew that would be pretty mean and Raylan was pulling off him anyway, blinking like he was about to fall asleep on top of the covers. So he just coughed loudly and Raylan sort of laughed and they heard bare feet pad away a moment later.

“You think she’s got that out of her system, now we caught her?” Raylan asked, pulling the covers back and slipping into the bed.

Boyd huffed. “Hardly. She thinks we’re talkin’ about her, she’s gonna try and listen in. Not sure whether it was natural curiosity on both counts, or if she got surprised by us necking.”

“Is that what we were doing?” Raylan asked and smiled indulgently.

“I couldn’t decide if that or ‘making out’ sounded more like we’re still horny teenagers. I went with the more old-fashioned term.”

“Thank you, darlin’, for enlightening me as to the inner workings of your mind.” He patted Boyd on the thigh and laid his head on the pillow.

“You’re welcome, baby. When are you heading out tomorrow?”

“Earlier than I’d like,” Raylan mumbled. “And I got to stay the weekend. Art wants me on this fuckin’ thing, I can’t even right now, Boyd--”

“Don’t worry. Just wake me before you go. I’m working Saturday anyway, wouldn’t be no fun for you.” He slipped under the covers himself. “I’ll see Helen on Sunday though. Tell her you say “hey,” and anything else you want.”

“That’s fine,” Raylan said, rolling over, undoubtedly barely listening. “Keep an eye on the girl, yeah?”

“Of course, Raylan.” Boyd said and flicked off the light, remembering only after that Raylan’s glass of bourbon was still sitting on the dresser, with no coaster, ice melting and gathering condensation. 

He couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed.


	2. Frame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd encounter some difficulties adjusting to their new routine, all while trying to keep an eye on Loretta.

In the morning, Boyd was awoken slowly by Raylan leaving the bed, showering, and dressing in the dark before sunrise. He roused himself enough to sit up, but Raylan pushed him back down, smiling wryly and slipping a hand down past the sheets around his waist.

“Don’t you have to go?” Boyd asked, his voice carrying sleep and the beginnings of arousal.

“I gave myself some extra time,” Raylan replied, hand closing around Boyd’s cock, fingers sure and warm.

Boyd groaned. “I hope you closed the fucking door.”

Raylan’s hand moved up and down Boyd’s hardening cock and he leaned in close, though he didn’t put any weight on the bed. “What am I? Some kind of asshole?” he murmured.

Boyd couldn’t really give him an answer because Raylan’s hand felt wonderful, warm, slow and steady. He groaned and closed his eyes, knowing the Raylan’s eyes were stuck fast to him, watching the pleasure he was feeling echo back across his face.

Raylan shifted, still pumping, leaning forward to brush their lips softly together. Boyd opened his mouth, tasting Raylan’s tongue, wet and sweet, even as Raylan’s hand began to move faster on him. 

Boyd raised his own hand to pull Raylan closer, lips and tongue moving at the same pace as Raylan’s fist. To get there, Raylan had to fall halfway, kneeling, to the floor next to the bed, straining his hand behind his back to keep the rhythm on Boyd’s cock. Boyd’s hand fell to Raylan elbow then, guiding him, keeping him there until it was all too much and he came, spurting up and all over his bare stomach with a stifled cry into Raylan’s smiling mouth.

Boyd blinked his eyes open a moment later to see Raylan’s soft smile still on his face. He’d pulled a tissue from the box on the nightstand and was wiping his hand idly. “What was that for?” Boyd asked softly.

Raylan shrugged, eyes maybe a little sad, as they would get lately when he was about to go back to Lexington. “To remember me by,” he said, half a joke. Boyd, his head still reeling from the come down, wasn’t sure what to say and realized his mouth was hanging open absurdly.

Raylan laughed at him, running a hand through Boyd's sleep-mussed hair. He leaned in again to kiss his forehead, then his lips, and said, “Go back to sleep, darlin’. But mind, school starts at 7:30.”

“That early?”

“I checked.”

The clock next to them read just after five. Boyd groaned and rolled over, not caring about the mess all over his skin. He’d have to wash the sheets anyway. “Now you know why I don’t like the damn government--makin’ our kids and our lawmen get up at such ungodly hours. At least first shift in the mine don’t start ‘til nine or so.”

Raylan huffed, he sounded farther away, near the door. “Yeah, but which shift are you workin’, Boyd?”

“Shut up and get out,” Boyd grumbled, turning his face towards his pillow. He turned back again, letting one eye poke out at his boy. He smiled at Raylan’s unconscious pout. “Love you, baby.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, with eyes that responded in kind.

 

Loretta woke in a strange bed, one that smelled old and musty, unfamiliar, and to strange sounds in the other room, muffled noises, only some of which sounded like real words. She heard footsteps come near, then fall slowly away.

She almost sat up, ready to bolt out of the bed, until she remembered she was at Boyd’s house--Boyd and Raylan’s--in what must have been Raylan’s bed once, if she remembered right. She wrapped the flannel shirt around herself tighter, along with the sheets, and rolled over, trying to catch a little more sleep before the sun peeked through the tiny window in the corner.

She couldn’t be sure how long it was later that she heard a soft knock on her door. “Breakfast is in the kitchen, if you wanna eat ‘fore we go,” Boyd said softly through the thin wood.

She didn’t answer, but she heard him walk away as she started to put on her clothes from yesterday, a little annoyed none of the grown men who were ordering her around in the last day thought to get her a change of clothes for school. She slipped the flannel back on over her clothes because the room was chilly and it was warm and not too wrinkled from the bed.

The house was nice. Looked nicer than her house, anyway. The rooms seemed more open and airy than any place she’d ever seen in Harlan or Bennett and the walls were all painted in colors--deep greens and pale blues and white--instead of wallpaper. Everything seemed pretty clean too--not like two boys were living there. Her daddy almost never cleaned anything, even when Mama was--

She blinked and made herself think about the nice pine kitchen table she was suddenly face to face with. Boyd smiled from the stovetop when he saw her stop dead in her tracks just inside the open kitchen doorway. She saw him take note of the flannel she was still wearing.

“You can keep that, if you want,” he said, something funny in his eyes. “He’s got tons of ‘em.”

Loretta wrapped herself tighter in it, deciding not to think about why. “I jus’ thought, might not be so obvious I’m wearin’ the same thing as yesterday.”

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then his face fell like he just ran over her dog. “Aw, honey, I’m sorry. We shoulda thought of that.”

Loretta wished she hadn’t said anything now. He looked really upset.

“You want, we can stop by your house before I drop you off,” he offered, scooping some scrambled eggs out of the pan and onto a plate for her.

She glanced at the clock on the wall. She figured it was food or clean clothes, not both if she was going to make it on time--and just barely. She was starving. “Don’t worry about it,” she told him. Loretta wasn’t usually so worried about being on time, or making it to class, or scraping good grades--not for a while anyway. But today was different. People were going to have heard about her and she didn’t want there to be any other reasons for their talk than there already was.

He slid a fork across the table to her as she sat down and she tucked in. They were really good, too, and Boyd smiled at her again when she said so.

When she asked where Raylan was, his smile fell a little. “Oh, he went back down to Lexington early. He was sorry he couldn’t say bye to you.”

She was too curious not to ask while chewing her food, “When will he be back?”

Boyd cleared his own, unfinished plate, standing up before he answered. “Not ‘til next weekend. We both gotta work through this one, so he can’t come back down.”

Loretta had always been sort of confused about why they went away for so long, but thinking about how they only ever had the weekends--now and before--she got it. She thought that must be hard and decided not to ask him about it any more. Though she did wonder what he was doing back at the mine if he’d got a degree of some kind while he was away.

She thought about Raylan then, how tall and strong he’d always seemed to look when she was little, and how sure of himself he’d been yesterday facing off with Mags and her boys, even though Loretta always thought they were sort of scary--always knew her daddy was real afraid of them. 

She’d thought of Raylan, tried to do what she thought he might have, even though they’d only ever really spoken the one time at the Dairy Queen, when Jimmy was trying to get with her, being so fake-sweet and dumb as hell about them being together.

And when it was all over and Raylan had her up in his arms, Jimmy in cuffs and pressed against his car by that other lady Marshal, she’d told herself over and over that he wouldn’t cry if someone pulled him out of a dark, smelly, trunk. And she hadn’t either. 

Not until her daddy had got there, anyway. And then it had only been a little, because he never knew what to do when she cried.

He hadn’t known what to do last night either, when she couldn’t hold the tears back when he was telling her she couldn’t go home, when that was the only thing in the world she wanted to do. He’d looked scared too and that scared Loretta, even more than when Jimmy had grabbed her.

“You want me to take that?” Boyd asked her then. She realized she’d stopped eating. There wasn’t much left on her plate, so she nodded and he bent forward and slid it out from between her elbows propped up on the table. “You want some coffee? We got a to-go cup you can borrow. I can’t imagine bein’ up this early with no coffee.”

Loretta said sure, not wanting him to think she wasn’t grown-up enough for it. She liked the lattes and mochas you could get from the fancy cafe in the Middlesboro Mall, but they always cost like two or three more dollars than regular black coffee, so she usually went without if she was down there with her friends, which wasn’t really that often anyway. She liked the coffee flavored shakes you could get from the Dairy Queen, but she only started drinking them last summer.

She must have looked like a dumbass trying to figure out how much milk and sugar she wanted in the cup he poured for her as he shoved the breakfast dishes in the sink and ran some water over the skillet.

“You ready?” he asked as she snapped the lid over the top of the cup. She nodded and he put the milk back in the fridge, asking, “You gonna be okay without a coat?”

“I got this,” she answered, indicating the flannel. It was real warm.

Boyd smiled. “That you do.”

They lived closer to Evarts than they did to Harlan proper, or to Baxter where the high school was now--though Loretta lived still farther on the edge of Bennett--so it took almost twenty minutes to get to the school.

“Well, shit,” Boyd said when they pulled up. “This place is _big_. Ain’t nothin’ like the prison block that Evarts was.” He grinned over at her. “You like it?”

She shrugged. “I never went to Evarts. Just the elementary school and here.”

“And school’s school, huh?” he asked, a knowing look in his eye.

She shrugged again.

“All right,” he said, leaning past her to push the door open. “Go on then. I’ll see you soon.”

She tried for a smile. “I got to give you your cup back. Maybe...I’ll come by?”

Boyd grinned. “If you want to. And, honey, you need anything, you don’t hesitate, all right?”

She nodded, slipping off the high seat and to the ground, careful of the still hot cup. “I promise,” she told him. She thought, if these two had her and her daddy’s backs, not anybody could touch them. “And tell Raylan, I said, ‘morning.’”

“Well, I’ll do that, Miss Loretta,” he said, with a Raylan-imitation invisible hat tip and drove away.

 

School was all right, surprisingly. When she got out, though, Dickie Bennett was waiting for her in the parking lot.

He couldn’t be there for anybody else, so she strode over to him--thinking all the while maybe she should have just hopped any bus and gone home--and he said, “We sent your daddy on a business trip down to Flo-ri-da. He said you’re stayin’ with Mama.”

Something fell fast down into the pit of Loretta’s stomach and her heart started beating faster, but she pushed it back up and she slowed it back down and she did not think the thing she’d almost thought.

“Why didn’t he call and tell me?” she asked.

“Didn’t know your friend’s number off hand. He was in a hurry.”

She frowned. Dickie didn’t know what friends’ she was at? Well, she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. “When’s he comin’ back?”

“Too soon to tell. Stop askin’ so many questions and get in the damn car, girl.”

Loretta didn’t really see a choice, so she climbed in, all the while wondering how the hell she was gonna get back over to Boyd and Raylan’s.

 

Boyd worked Friday and Saturday, had a nice brunch thing with Helen on Sunday, then stopped over at Ava’s for dinner. Johnny was walking up the steps as Boyd was making his way out, just shy of too tipsy to drive. They said hey, as if it had been a little longer than usual since they saw each other.

“Raylan find that girl?” Johnny asked him as they met on the porch.

“Yeah, she’s fine. Though I thought I might see her again before now,” Boyd said distractedly. He was pretty tired. Coming back to the mine was wearing a little harder on him than it had all those years ago when he went to it for Raylan. He thought he’d be accustomed to the work already, so he was sore in more ways than one that things hadn’t turned out as such.

He looked back at Johnny and frowned. “What are you doing here?”

“Hey, Ava’s kin to me too, asshole,” Johnny said, always quick to defend.

“Well, you missed dinner if you were comin’ for that. Though Ava didn’t say nothin’ about it.”

Johnny’s face gave a twist like he’d been caught at something and he just said, “Nah, just checkin’ in. Listen, I’ll call you come this week. I want to talk about a thing.”

“Fine,” Boyd said yawning. He took the steps two at a time, eager to get to his bed. “Call in the afternoon. I’ll be up by then, but not gone.”

Johnny turned back to him, the light on the porch only illuminating half his face. Boyd might appreciate the cinematic cliche a bit more if he weren’t so eager to get back home. “Boyd, what the hell are you doin’ back down there? I mean--”

Boyd shook his head. He’d got it from Ava over her fried chicken too. “I’ll tell you when you call, you really want. I’m beat, Johnny. Good night.”

“Night, Boyd.”

 

The call Johnny made on Tuesday afternoon was about him using one of Bo’s properties for a deal of a particularly shady disposition. Boyd didn’t even have to hear Johnny spell out the whole of the intended transaction before he was saying, “absolutely not.”

Johnny’s expression was practically audible, coming out in a choked back huff of frustration. “There ain’t a lot of places around here suitable for this shit that Bo didn’t own, Boyd. I’m running out of options here.”

Boyd was standing at the kitchen window, looking out to the back shed and the yard that he’d never really paid too much attention to, so focused as he had been on the house itself.

“You told me to keep you informed, Boyd, and I have been, but I can’t just go into anybody’s holler for this. It’s got to be secure and it’s got to be mine.”

“It’s mine, Johnny. And I can’t have that so near me.” Boyd closed his eyes. He didn’t really want the damn land anyway, not all of it. Johnny had money rolling in from Miami. 

“What are you keeping it for anyway?”

Boyd didn’t know. “I’m gonna call you back in a few days, cuz,” he said, not sure why he sounded so weary.

“Boyd, I need to--”

“It can wait that long. You ain’t meeting for two weeks.” Boyd hung up without saying goodbye.

He called the other powderman next and swapped that day’s shift for one at the end of the week. He left Raylan a message as he drove out of town, his maps of all the land his daddy left him in Harlan tucked behind his seat.

 

Raylan came home to the apartment that night, his pleasure at expecting Boyd eclipsed by surprise to see him pouring over a marked up map of Harlan County spread across the kitchen table.

“What’s goin’ on?” Raylan asked taking off his hat as he leaned in to press a kiss to Boyd’s cheek. Boyd was distracted and he barely reciprocated the embrace, so Raylan refused to pull away.

Boyd blinked at him then, and smiled sheepishly. “Hey,” he murmured and curled a hand around the back of Raylan’s neck, something he did more often when he was feeling unsure.

“What’s goin’ on, darlin’?”

Boyd’s eyes went right back down to the map. “I think,” he said, and his eyes looked just as tired as his voice sounded, “that I’m gonna sell Johnny some of Daddy’s land.”

Raylan’s expression cooled. They’d been over this quite a bit. Raylan knew why Boyd wanted Johnny where he was. It made sense, that if it wasn’t Johnny it would be somebody else, somebody who might not like a federal agent and the abdicated heir to a shitkicker empire living it up just down the hill. It made perfect sense.

But that didn’t mean Raylan had to like it. Especially not when Boyd was all but handing Johnny ways to make his life exponentially easier.

“What does he need it for?”

Boyd gave him a swift look and a jutted jaw. “Baby, don’t--”

He cut himself off for some reason. They usually at least went through some motions of talking this through before they quit for sanity’s sake. But tonight Boyd just shook his head and leaned back over the map, his eyes falling down.

Raylan really didn’t like how tired he looked.

“Are you all right?” he asked and Boyd’s head came swiftly back up at the sincere concern in his voice.

When Boyd didn’t answer immediately, Raylan reached out and pulled him away from the table and into the bedroom. He pushed him down to sit on the bed and Boyd sat easily. He went into the next room and came back with two glasses and a nearly full handle of Jim Beam. He poured Boyd one and handed it to him before pouring for himself.

He really didn’t like that Boyd hadn’t said anything in all that time, just walked and looked and sat silently, as though he were still thinking about Raylan’s question. It shouldn’t be so hard to say.

“Darlin’, come on,” he said quietly, feeling like the hush had taken over the room somehow.

Boyd took a long sip at the whiskey and said, “Raylan, I’m just tired.”

Raylan leaned his weight back on his heel and crossed his arms. “Don’t do that.”

Boyd looked up from his drink and right into his eyes.

“Don’t ask me what, either. I want to be done with bullshit like this.”

Boyd blinked and shook his head, slowly, minutely. “I honestly thought, baby, or didn’t think--” He took a breath and started again. “I didn’t mean to do that, all right? I thought...I thought that I’d get used to it. Would be used to it again by now.”

“The mine,” Raylan said. He didn’t think it could be just that. 

But maybe he didn’t know how bad it really was. Memory was a funny thing and twenty years was a long time. There was a big difference too, between a man at nineteen and the same man at thirty-nine, or twenty-nine, even. There was a difference between who they’d been and who they were now, who Boyd was. Raylan didn’t know anything about it now.

Boyd didn’t look just tired, his exhaustion seemed bone-deep, set in far longer than it should have. Raylan had seen him less than a week ago. He’d seemed all right then.

Boyd pressed the hand not holding his drink to his eyes. “I had some weird conversations with people this week. Tense. Not...nothing bad. I don’t think. I don’t mind the powder, never did. It’s the hours and the looks. I just have to--”

“You don’t _have_ to do anything.”

Boyd’s expression turned angry, but his tiredness made it look almost like he was holding back tears. Raylan regretted the words immediately. “I made a _choice_ , Raylan. And if I’m going to stand by that choice, to see this thing through then I--”

“You’re right,” Raylan told him, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry. I just--I don’t even know, darlin’. I’m not there and I don’t know and you look like hell. I mean it.”

Boyd nodded and neither of them said anything for an amount of time Raylan couldn’t gauge. It felt like too long. Boyd drained his drink and said, “Are you gonna hold me, then? Or not?”

Raylan almost threw his glass on the ground in his haste to get over there, feeling terrible Boyd had felt the need to ask. He couldn’t remember either of them ever having done it before. He didn’t know if it was a good or bad thing.

Boyd let out a sigh that Raylan was sure neither of them knew he’d been holding onto as Raylan’s arms came around him. He climbed right up on the bed, half in Boyd’s lap in order to get as close to him as possible.

“I’m sorry,” Raylan said softly.

“No, I am,” Boyd mumbled, face pressed into his shoulder. “I didn’t realize. Being away would make it so hard to go back. And being alone in the house. I don’t remember it being so… empty.”

Raylan kissed his cheek as he spoke, then hushed him softly. “That’s fine, darlin’,” he said. “That makes sense.”

Boyd clung to him, but started shaking his head only a moment later. “It’s nothin’.” He tried to pull away. “It’s fine.”

Raylan held on, sinking his fingers to Boyd’s hair. “Don’t do that, either.”

“It shouldn’t matter,” Boyd told him, putting some strength in his tone, though his eyes wouldn’t meet Raylan’s. 

“Boyd,” Raylan said, sliding his hand down the back of Boyd’s neck, drawing Boyd’s eyes up to his. “It obviously does. Now do you want to try and convince me it doesn’t or do you want to screw?”

Boyd smiled, very slowly, and kissed him. He drew his hands up to slip the tie from Raylan’s neck, start working on the buttons of his shirt.

He didn’t really need to answer.

They went slow for awhile, a long while. They undressed each other leisurely, pressing lips and teeth to skin and fingertips, grazing lightly, lovingly.

“Fuck me, Raylan,” Boyd whispered, eyes brighter than they’d been all night and Raylan pulled the lube out of the drawer at the side of the bed.

They went slow on that too and Boyd writhed beneath him, looking up with his mouth hanging open and wet, his breath coming fast, eyes heavy-lidded. 

“Fuck ‘em,” he said almost incoherently near the end, when Raylan had his fingers wrapped tight around his straining cock, moving at just the same rhythm as the thrust of his hips. They were both close. “Fuck ‘em,” he said again.

Raylan closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting it out in a groan. “Yeah, darlin’.” His mouth mangled that part. “Fuck ‘em. I love you.”

“Christ,” Boyd moaned and came. 

Raylan went right after him, collapsing on top with a sigh as he pulled out. “Oh, shit.”

Boyd was smirking, more amused than his usual post-coital grin. “Couldn’t have been tha’ bad,” he slurred.

“Shut up,” Raylan murmured and kissed him, smiling too. “Mm so glad you’re home.”

Boyd stiffened for a moment, then kissed him back and Raylan didn’t realize what he’d said until minutes later, after Boyd had slipped into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

He made himself get up and out of the bed, half-stumbling into the tiny bathroom. “Darlin’,” he said as he closed the door to keep the heat of the water in.

Boyd poked his head out from behind the curtain. “Hey,” he said, like nothing had happened. “I thought you were gonna crash. Just gimme a minute. I’m almost done.”

Raylan took a step and reached for him, just brushing his shoulder. He grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Again.”

Boyd’s mouth was tight. “For what?”

Raylan shook his head. “I can’t believe I’m the one saying don’t do that, _again_.”

Boyd turned back to the spray.

“Thing is, darlin’. I know this ain’t home for you.”

“Raylan, let’s not. Please.” His voice came out muffled from the sound of the water behind the curtain.

“No, I mean.” Raylan hated sounding so hesitant. He just came out and said it. “It’s just home to me ‘cause I’m here and you’re here. I would have said it in Harlan. I don’t care. Not about the land, not about the house--just if you’re there. All right?”

Boyd drew the curtain back to reveal an expression as floored as Raylan felt. They never did shit like this, let alone twice in one night.

Boyd must have been thinking the same thing because he said, in a slow, dizzied tone, “Baby, we really have to get used to being apart again because I can’t take so much of this shit all at once all the time.”

Raylan just found himself nodding as he stepped into Boyd’s waiting arms.

Later, in bed, they talked about Bo’s land, which plots Boyd thought he might sell to Johnny, which ones he wanted to keep for himself, for his plan, the one that had put him right back in the mine. Raylan frowned and asked if it wouldn’t be better to keep all of it, say screw Johnny and his operation.

Boyd just shook his head. “Staying in Johnny’s good graces is gonna be important, baby,” he said, drawing his fingers idly across Raylan’s arm and shoulder as he held him in the bed. At Raylan’s dubious look, Boyd let out a quick, annoyed huff. “I don’t mean workin’ with him, or knowing his business,” though Raylan was perfectly aware Boyd knew a lot more than he said he did, “what it means is that we get the benefit of a good relationship with people who otherwise might not look kindly on our enterprises.”

Raylan sighed and let his gaze fall to Boyd’s fingers, long and lean, but strong, fingernails laced still with a line of black. It was always so hard to wash out.

“An’ I don’t need all the land. Some of it ain’t advantageous for what I have planned. Some of it’s downright useless.” He turned his head to press his lips to Raylan’s temple. “It would be better to have the money, really.”

Raylan grinned. “You gonna fleece him?”

He felt Boyd’s lips spread against his skin, his breath flow past his ear. “I know what he can afford, baby.”

“Of course you do,” Raylan returned. They lay silently together for a few minutes and Raylan thought Boyd might have fallen asleep as it finally occurred to him to ask, “You hear from Walt and Loretta?”

Boyd stirred a little, his breath coming out in an exhausted sigh. “Come t’ think of it, I ain’t,” he mumbled. “C’n we...” He trailed off.

“‘Course, darlin’. We’ll talk in the morning.”

 

“I dropped her off at the school,” Boyd told Raylan the next morning over breakfast in response to his questions. “She said she’d come by. Seemed like she really wanted to. And I thought I’d hear from Walt, you know, to thank us again, seeing as he wouldn't stop doing that the night of--”

“Yeah,” Raylan said, and Boyd smiled into his coffee cup. Raylan felt a lot more free to interrupt him when something was bothering him.

“You worried?”

“Aren’t you?” Raylan’s eyes were dark and his lips were tightened, but not quite frowning. 

“Let me go on over there, just to check in, all right?” Boyd put his hand over Raylan’s. “Let’s not... be unduly concerned. Not yet, right?”

Raylan was staring at the crust of his toast on the plate before him. “Boyd, he wouldn’t have asked us to take her if he didn’t think--”

“I know, Raylan.” Boyd knew very well. He was beating himself up over somehow not having the clarity of thought to wonder why Loretta hadn’t come by, like she said she would, like Walt probably would have insisted she do, if she’d kept the coffee cup he’d loaned her.

“We should have checked right away.”

“Maybe. It’s hard, you know? People want to keep to their own business.”

“He made it our business, darlin’.” Raylan looked sick with it. “And we didn’t follow through.”

Boyd looked away, feeling the burden on his shoulders grow heavier. “You mean, I didn’t.” Working on the night shift, living in the stolen hours between dusk--so early in Harlan--and dawn, he’d been tired, distracted, barely aware of the passing of days.

He looked back up to see Raylan staring at him. “No,” he said slowly. “That’s not what I meant.”

Boyd frowned. “Well, what were you going to do? You were here. I was the one, could go looking in. And I didn’t.”

Raylan shook his head, looked away, then back, hard, at Boyd. “I don’t know why we’re even talking about it like this. We don’t know anything yet.”

Boyd shoved away from the table, standing up and turning to the kitchen counter behind them. “That’s what I said, Raylan. Christ.” Raylan was shaking his head, like he was ready to apologize, but Boyd kept going. “You’re chomping at the bit to lay all that guilt on yourself again, but when anything like blame comes near me, we can’t even talk about it no more.” He turned hard back to Raylan and crossed his arms. “That’s bullshit, baby, you know it is.”

Raylan worked his jaw in Boyd’s direction and looked like he wanted so say something, but wasn’t even sure what. Boyd had a feeling he didn’t want to admit he was wrong about this, but also didn’t want to say Boyd should take on any of the guilt it was too soon for either of them to be feeling.

Boyd found himself laughing.

By the look in his eyes, Raylan really didn’t like that. Though it wasn’t as if Boyd had expected him to. 

“You want me to tell you you’re right and I’m wrong, huh?” Raylan asked angrily.

Boyd raised his hands. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to, baby.” He knew he sounded condescending, but he hadn’t quite let go of his hysteria and he knew Raylan would flip if he laughed again.

As far as they’d come, Boyd was pretty sure Raylan wasn’t going to change about shit like this, about carrying all that guilt around, for everyone. He wasn’t even sure he wanted him to. It was an intrinsic part of who Raylan was. But, goddamn, did it make him hard to deal with sometimes.

Raylan’s brows were drawn down heavy over his eyes. “You think I’m being an asshole.”

Boyd really wanted to ask him when he wasn’t being an asshole about one thing or another, but he held back. He wasn’t really sure how Raylan wanted him to respond to this, so he just asked, “You done putting words in my mouth?” 

Raylan left the room.

Boyd set the dishes from breakfast in the sink, running some water, but not planning to scrub them himself. He figured Raylan could take care of it later, he wanted to take care of everything all the time anyway.

He walked back into the bedroom to see his boy buttoning one of the darker shirts in his closet. It was a solid black one and made him look skinny as anything. With the expression on his face, it made him look mean, too. 

Boyd had joked once that he was trying to be the man in black. Raylan had said he was sure Boyd didn’t think that would be so bad. Boyd had refrained from comment after that. He always thought Johnny Cash had sort of a weird shaped head.

Raylan didn’t own any black jackets that didn’t belong at a funeral, so when he put on his dark grey one, the effect was pretty much ruined. Boyd slipped into the room and went to the closet, taking out one of the red and blue flannel patterned ties he’d picked up for Raylan at the Macy’s the past fall. He thought he should have a splash of color in amongst his black-mood garments.

Raylan gave him a sort of helpless look as he came near and drew the tie around his neck, tying it up quick. He’d learned to tie them backwards fairly soon after he moved up to Lexington. 

They used to make a game of it, special for the mornings Boyd didn’t have to be in class before Raylan left for work. He got to pick the tie, but only if he tied it on.

The first time, Boyd had taken nearly ten minutes and finally had to step around to his back and tie it awkwardly over his shoulders. Even then, it had taken a long time and Raylan was laughing at him. Boyd never wore a suit.

“What time is your appointment at the lawyer?”

Boyd kept his eyes on the tie. “Didn’t make one. I hope I can be out by four, though. I have shift tonight. Only got last night’s off ‘cause I swapped with Slinky.”

Slinky McGregor was the other powderman on Boyd’s crew. He’d been there back when Boyd had worked before, but had only been a man on the line. He must have got the promotion after Boyd left for school. He was skinnier than Raylan and taller. He said some dumb shit sometimes--or Boyd remembered he used to, seeing as they worked opposite shifts these days--but he was good people. He had a new wife and a baby on the way.

Raylan pulled his hands up to grasp hard at Boyd’s. “Take care of yourself,” he said softly, drawing Boyd’s eyes. “For God’s sake.”

The tie was tied and so Boyd used it to draw Raylan into a kiss, messy and desperate, an apology where words couldn’t, or wouldn’t, yet come.

Raylan broke away abruptly and stepped back. “I’ll see you,” he said and left without glancing back. He left Boyd wondering how badly he might’ve hurt his feelings with that laugh.

 

Three hours later, as Boyd was just getting on the highway south to Harlan, he got a call from Raylan. It was only 11:00 am.

“You get an early lunch?” Boyd asked uncertainly, as he changed into the fast lane. The lawyer’s morning had been free and he’d gotten out of there faster than he thought he would.

“Nah, Art told me to call. Said I was fucking things up all morning on account of you.”

Boyd valiantly held back a laugh. “When you gonna tell him to mind his own business about you and me, baby?”

Raylan huffed, just an edge away from annoyed, though Boyd knew it wasn’t at him. “I guess when he stops being right all the time about it.” He didn’t say anything for half a beat and Boyd was about to apologize when he continued, “Listen, I’m gonna be on a detail on Sunday, so I can get Friday off. I’m gonna come down Thursday night--tomorrow-- and stay.”

“Baby, I gotta work Thursday and Friday night now.” Boyd hated it when Raylan was in Harlan and he couldn’t be with him the whole time.

“It’s all right. I want to come down. Take care of… some things, okay?” He sounded hesitant and Boyd felt like an asshole. It was his goddamn house.

“Yeah,” he said. “Of course. I’m sorry, Raylan. My head’s all over the place. Come home whenever you want.”

Raylan laughed a little, breezing air past the phone receiver. Boyd could hear the sounds of his office in the background. “You’re trying to manage it like last time things were this way, darlin’. I don’t think we can get away with that anymore.”

Boyd took a breath. “No, I don’t think we can either. Just--give me some time to adjust, all right?”

“It’s a lot. I know. It’s fine, Boyd.”

“It won’t be, ‘til I see you.” Things like that never used to come out of his mouth.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m coming down Thursday.” Raylan had never sounded so patient is his life--unless he was talking down a man with a gun. Boyd didn’t think he was that far gone.

“I’m gonna get pulled over on account of your precious hands-free law--”

“Well, we can’t have that.” 

Boyd knew very well Raylan never paid attention to that shit.

“So, I’m gonna go, baby. Call me tomorrow?”

“You know me,” he said.

Boyd smiled. “I do.”

It always took them a little while to work back around to the “I love you”’s.

 

Raylan raced out of the office the next day and sped down the highway and the state roads, hoping to catch Boyd before he left the house for his shift.

He made it, just as Boyd was leaving, at about five. Boyd was on the porch, in his coveralls, lunch box under his arm. “Hey,” he said, raising his hand, which Raylan caught on its way up and pulled to get him close enough to kiss.

It was hard and fast, leaving Boyd breathless as Raylan asked, keeping close, “You get to talk to Walt?”

Boyd shook his head, frowning. “I went over this morning. No one was home. I asked the neighbors, they said they ain’t seen either of ‘em since you and the Staties showed up. They thought he’d been arrested or something.”

Raylan pulled away, his heart beating fast. 

“So, I went to Mags’, on a hunch. She said--” he grimaced. “Raylan, she said, she sent Walt on a trip to do some work for her down in Florida. Loretta’s been staying with her, minding the store sometimes.”

Raylan worked his jaw. “She sent him on a _trip_.”

“That’s what she said,” Boyd replied, eyes grave. “She didn’t like to tell me either. But there were customers in the store. A family. Baby, Loretta can’t stay there.”

Raylan shook his head. “We can’t tell her if we got no proof. They told her stayin’ there’s what her Daddy wanted?”

“I believe so.” Boyd’s hands were tight on Raylan’s arms. “I’d swear it to a jury, son. That man is dead.”

Raylan knew it too. He knew the Bennetts. They were like the Crowders, like his daddy. There was no way Mags would stand for Walt going to the feds, even about a pedo like Jimmy Earl Dean. They should have had Walt come too that night. They should have thought it through.

“We’ve got to talk to her, at least,” Raylan said slowly. “Just so she knows she can come to us.”

Boyd looked at the sky. “I got to go, Raylan.”

“Tomorrow?”

Boyd kissed him quick. “Yeah, wake me up when you want to go find her.”

 

Raylan spent the evening straightening up, just a few dishes in the sink and some clothes Boyd had left on the floor that morning. He did a load of laundry too, drinking a beer next to the stairs to the basement so he could hear the machine buzz when it finished the cycle.

He was in bed with a case file, half-asleep when Boyd came in. He smiled, stirring languidly and watched Boyd slip out of his jacket then the rest of his clothes.

"It's nice finding you here," he murmured as he climbed in next to Raylan. He smelled like the orange grit soap they used to keep by the wash basins and more like the mine than Raylan was used to. 

He smiled into Boyd’s kiss.

“What are you laughin’ about?” Boyd asked him, almost whispering.

Raylan grinned. “Oh, you don’t like being laughed at either, do you?”

Boyd climbed on top of him. “I’m sorry, okay? Now, what’s so damn funny?”

"It's just that I remember a time, not so long ago, when both you and I would have shuddered at the possibility of thinkin', let alone callin' something 'nice' in such a glorifying manner, darlin'."

He delicately traces his fingers across the bare skin of Boyd's arms, to emphasize the point.

A shadow crossed Boyds expression and Raylan second guessed himself, even as Boyd asked him in a low voice, "You think I gone soft, too?"

Raylan seized Boyd’s face in his hands, rougher than he meant to. “ _No_ ,” he said, then smiled, grimly. “I learned my lesson the first time.”

Boyd didn’t melt, or flinch, or back down. He just stared right into Raylan’s eyes, his own wide and almost unnerving. 

“You feel like you need to prove it to me, darlin’?” Raylan asked him. He was game, but he could feel in the tension of Boyd’s limbs, how tired he was. He’d had a long day.

Boyd broke, finally, heaving a sigh and looking down before he let his head drop to Raylan’s shoulder. “I’m just tired of all the bullshit, baby. I don’t mean to take it out on you.”

“I know,” Raylan murmured, sliding what he hoped was a soothing palm across Boyd’s back. Boyd sighed again and Raylan felt him relax just a little more. “You’d think after all this time to get used to the idea, people’d be a little more forgiving--hell, I’d take silent judgment over all this.” He turned his head a little, to catch the corner of Boyd’s sleepy eye. “You know what Mags Bennett called me?”

A sly smile, a knowing one, slid across his boy’s face. “What?”

“A sexual deviant.”

“No shit.”

Raylan grinned. “I swear.”

Boyd’s laugh, soft as it was, and breathy, was a welcome sound. “She was a hell of a lot nicer to me.”

“What’d she call you?”

“Not a good role model.”

Raylan laughed now too. “Oh, is that all?”

“Cut me to the core,” Boyd mumbled, closing his eyes and slumping fully against Raylan.

The sun was just peeking out from behind the hill now and Raylan sighed as he extricated himself from Boyd, heavy, but pliable in his sleep, to turn off the light.

A few hours later he left Boyd, dead to the world, to go run a few errands in town. It was mid-morning on a weekday, so no one was really around, save deadbeats and the occasional housewife, none of which seemed to know Raylan from Adam, which was good for a change in Harlan.

He bought some food, beer, and a cheap pay-as-you-go cell phone from the gas station.

When he returned, it was just after noon. He climbed the stairs as quietly as he could and stood in the doorway to the bedroom for about a minute, just looking at Boyd as he slept, half under the covers, spread out across the mattress, limbs splayed out in all directions, like some kind of puppy--a working dog though, one with long legs he didn’t yet know how to move gracefully.

Raylan huffed a laugh at himself, not usually one for such detailed metaphors.

Boyd shifted at the sound, curling an arm under his head and twisting just a little to blink sleepy eyes at Raylan. “Thought I heard you come in,” he murmured.

Raylan smiled and went to him. He climbed up on the bed and leaned over him as Boyd turned onto his back, his eyes drifting open and shut. His lips turned up when Raylan touched his face. “I was taking care of some things,” he said.

“Takin’ care of me,” Boyd said, voice thick.

Raylan kissed him, bending low to reach his lips. “That’s right,” he told him and drew his mouth down.

Boyd was hard from the morning, growing harder from Raylan’s sudden proximity, and Raylan laved him up good, until he was standing at attention, before swallowing him down. He sucked him for a minute, then drew off and licked up the underside, taking in one of his balls, tasting it slow until Boyd hissed, “ _Jesus_ , baby,” through his increasingly loud groans and pulled Raylan’s hair through his fingers.

He swallowed Boyd down again and felt all Boyd’s muscles waking up beneath him, straining enough to writhe and soon pitching at the same intensity as his voice. Raylan sucked him and looked up at his neck. Boyd’s head was tilted back so he almost couldn’t see his mouth hanging open in a full-on pant . When Boyd came he did it with a resounding, “ _Yes_ ,” that hissed through his teeth on the back-end, like he couldn’t force his jaw open again.

Raylan swallowed all of what Boyd gave him and was about to wipe it off with the back of his hand as he climbed back up the mattress, but Boyd caught him swiftly by his hair again and forced their lips together in a breathless, messy, conversation of a kiss, where it seemed as though Boyd was saying, “thank you,” and, “I’m sorry,” and, “I love you,” all in one fierce gesture and all Raylan could say back was, “yes,” and “of course,” and “I love you,” though it really all seemed like the same words strung together differently--except, in a kiss.

Raylan had to laugh again and he did it into Boyd’s mouth.

“What, in the hell, baby, is so goddamn funny?” Boyd asked, pulling away, a smile of his own tugging at his lips.

Raylan shook his head. “I’m being an idiot,” he barely tried to explain and Boyd gave him a look. “You got me thinkin’ some ridiculous shit, darlin’.”

“Like what?”

Raylan looked away, making an embarrassed face. “You’ll get mad at me for putting words in your mouth again.”

Boyd’s eyes seemed to dance. “Will not. I wasn’t mad about that anyway. You got all them words right, Raylan.”

Raylan grinned, but shook his head again. “You remember to ask me later, and I’ll tell you. You got to get up now, though. School’s just about out. We need to catch Loretta ‘fore she ends up back at Mags’. I know you don’t want to go over there again.”

Boyd snorted as he planted his feet on the floor. “And you say I’m the one who’s right all the time.”


	3. Truss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dangers emerge at every turn for Loretta, Raylan, and Boyd.

Loretta saw the Marshal’s big black car before she saw his hat as she walked down the steps from the school, bell still ringing behind her. He was leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed, eyes small and piercing and Boyd was standing off to the side, one hand on the passenger’s side door, eyes moving between Raylan and Loretta and something like a smile playing across his lips.

She leaned against a tree and watched them watch her until the schoolyard and the parking lot emptied.

When the coast seemed clear, she approached them, one hand tight around her backpack--where she’d stashed a bag or two of Mags’ product in the lining-- the other shoved in her pocket.

“I heard you went over to Mags’ yesterday,” Loretta said before either of them could speak. They were both looking at her like she was something halfway between a problem and a tragedy. She met Boyd’s eyes.

He nodded gravely. “I did.” He stepped away from the car and around to stand next to Raylan, who hadn’t moved. “We got worried, you didn’t come to see us.”

Loretta didn’t like to think what her face looked like. 

She had really wanted to. She thought it would be so much better than tiptoeing around Mags’ house all day, sitting bored at the counter in the store. She wasn’t scared of anything there--not now that she knew Mags actually liked her for some reason. But she hated Dickie and his slippery smirk, hated rank-ass Coover and his dead eyes. 

She wanted to be at home. They wouldn’t let her near the crop. She stopped her tears at night thinking about that field left untended on the state land behind Daddy’s shed. They would have been set on that for six months at least.

“I was gonna,” she made herself sound careless. “They been keepin’ me on a short leash.”

“They know you was stayin’ with us?” Raylan’s stare hadn’t shifted at all since she saw them.

Loretta looked between them and scuffed her foot on the gravel. “They don’t, and I didn’t tell ‘em, either.” She wasn’t no fool.

Raylan smiled at her. “That’s good, honey.”

“Did Daddy... call you or anything?” She didn’t know why he wouldn’t have called from wherever he was. Mags just kept saying he was real busy, but--

The two of them looked at each other and she didn’t like how their eyes met over her head. “He might not be able to, Loretta. Don’t--” Boyd grimaced as he spoke, then hesitated. “Don’t get too worried yet. We don’t know anything, but Raylan,” he put his hand, warmly, easily, on Raylan’s visibly tense shoulder, “he’s gonna investigate.”

Raylan’s eyes flashed at Boyd, but he made something like a reassuring face when he looked down at Loretta. “I’m gonna look into it. And I’ll let you know.”

“ _Whatever_ you find out, right?” She tried to keep the desperation from her voice.

“Whatever it is, I promise,” he said gravely.

Boyd pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and, glancing again at Raylan, like they’d talked about all this before they met up, he said, “Some shit seems to be looking to kick into high gear sooner rather than later in this town, honey. We’re feelin’ a mite responsible for you, since your daddy asked us so nice to look after you, shortly before his...mysterious exile...”

“And because we like you a great deal--always have,” Raylan put in, playing with the brim of his hat.

Boyd smiled, almost indulgently, and finished, handing her the phone, “So you keep that on you, and secret from certain parties, and you call us if you need _anything_ , you hear?”

“Anything,” Raylan said, something much harder in his eyes than usual.

Boyd fixed her with the same glare and she wondered for a second if they weren’t brothers instead of boyfriends--which was dumb, but she thought it anyway as she palmed the phone. It was just a cheap little burner, pay-as-you-go, but she’d never had one before. “Okay,” she told them and when they didn’t stop looking, she added, impatiently, eyes on the ball field behind them, “Anything, Jesus.”

Boyd turned away, coughing a laugh, but Raylan didn’t waver until she looked back. Then he smiled and raised a hand like he wanted to pat her on the head or something. She refused to entertain the idea of the gesture being at all welcome, so she ducked her head and starting walking away, stuffing the phone and her hands into the pockets of her coat. “I’ll see you, then, I guess.”

“Or call,” Boyd said after her. “Both our numbers are in that phone.”

When she looked back, she saw them standing closer to each other than they had when they were talking to her. She wondered why they hadn’t been doing that the whole time, it’s not like she gave a damn they were close. Boyd’s hand was on Raylan’s arm and Raylan was looking down and they were talking, low enough she couldn’t hear over the cars as she neared the road away from the school. 

She thought it looked so much more natural than the foot they’d placed between each other, arms crossed in front of their chests in almost the same pose. She watched Raylan hook a finger into one of Boyd’s belt loops and they both gave each other big, wide grins.

She shook her head and turned back to her front, picking up her pace. Mags wanted her to mind the store after school today. She missed the bus, so she’d have to practically sprint that few miles through the hills to get over there in time. 

 

She was late when she made it, breathing heavy and red with the heat of spring and the sun through the trees. Her hair was plastered across her brow and along the back of her neck and Mags was glowering at her from behind the register.

“You’re late, honey.” Mags always had a way of making the obvious sound like a threat.

“I’m sorry,” Loretta blurted. “I-I had a-a thing with some sophomore, heard I was selling.” At Mags’ suspicious expression, she added hastily, “He was vouched for. An’ I can see a narc from a mile away. Jus’ it took longer than I thought, so I missed the bus.”

Mags’ face hadn’t cleared yet. “Where’s the cash?”

Loretta, always pretty quick on on her feet, had had to become twice as fast a thinker since she started staying there and working for Mags all the time. “I didn’t sell him any, he didn’t have enough. Supposed to meet up again tomorrow.”

Mags smiled, but it wasn’t the soft one she’d been showing Loretta lately. “That’s good, Loretta,” she said. “Now, come here a minute. Get a coke, you want to. I have to talk to you about something.”

Loretta’s heart began to beat again like it had all through her run, but she dropped her bag casually, opened up the cooler, and pulled out an orange soda. She popped it as she sat down on one of the lower stools just behind the counter. She had to look up to meet Mags’ eyes.

“How do you know the Marshal and his...” For once, she seemed at a loss for words.

“Boyd?” Loretta offered.

Mags frowned and Loretta chided herself for taking this too lightly. She was going to have to play the game cool enough to convince. “How do you know them, honey?”

Loretta made herself blink and shrug, like it was nothing. “Daddy and Mama used to take me to the Dairy Queen on spring and summer nights. I guess I was like ten or so, the first time I saw them there. My daddy knows Boyd from the mine, before Mama got sick. They’d chat about it, I guess. I never talked to them much.” 

She took a long sip of the soda. It was good after her run. She tangled her free fingers in her shoelaces and cast her eyes on the cans of corn and jars of jam that lines Mags’ bottom shelves.

“Coover told you Boyd came by, looking for you.”

Loretta nodded and licked her lips, looking up at Mags’ carefully schooled expression of mild curiosity. 

“Why’d he feel the need to do that?”

Loretta shook her head. “I dunno. The Marshal was the one, got me away from Jimmy Earl, maybe he told his--Boyd about it. He and Daddy was friends, I said. Maybe Boyd was... worried.”

Mags was looking at her hard now.

“I don’t know,” Loreta finally said, helplessly. She felt sick and she forced all the lies out of her mouth she could think of, in quick succession. “I only saw them when we got ice cream. They were always nice, but we never talked like-like friends. We-we ain’t friends. I wouldn't be friends with no federal--”

“All right, honey,” Mags raised a hand and brought it down carefully on her hair, smoothing it. Loretta forced herself not to pull away. 

Raylan had looked so worried when she asked about Daddy. He knew something, something Loretta didn’t know, and Boyd knew too, because Raylan knew, and he’d looked serious, grave. And Mags was the only one who knew for sure.

“Did Daddy call?” she asked in a small voice. Mags liked to be needed, by Loretta anyway, it seemed. She’d always get an answer if she sounded like she was holding back tears.

“No, child, I told you he was gonna be busy this week. Maybe next.” Mags spoke with a heavy sigh, like she didn’t like to tell that to Loretta. Maybe she didn’t, but there wasn’t much truth to her words, Loretta thought, but hoped the opposite. She’d rather have him be gone and busy than--

“Oh, hush now,” Mags said, almost impatiently. “All this talk of worry, got you riled up over nothing.” She touched Loretta’s face and Loretta made herself look Mags in the eyes, like she trusted her. She had no reason not to, she supposed, except for Boyd and Raylan’s silent concern, the look in their eyes like something bad had already happened.

She trusted them to know more than she trusted Mags to tell her.

“Now I have some things to do, honey. You sit here at the counter ‘til I get back.”

Loretta stood, smiled just a little hesitantly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mags left her with another pat on the head and that soft smile she never gave any of her own children.

She spent the rest of the afternoon ignoring her homework and trying to figure out when she could get herself back over to Boyd’s house.

 

Art was being an asshole about all the Harlan shit that had been going down lately--Loretta originally and now that oxy bus last week. When Tom Bergen came up to the office to ask if Raylan could do some more work with the Harlan task force they’d formed, Art even went so far as to accuse Raylan of escalating things just so he could be down there more often, saying he loved it.

“You had your way, Raylan, there’d be a whole office of Marshals in Harlan so you wouldn’t have to drive so far to see your goddamn boyfriend!” At the volume Art was projecting, Raylan knew the whole place could hear. 

He had a hard time swallowing that accusation as only frustration with the needs of the department, budget cuts and more cases and so on. Raylan knew Art needed him on shit up here, but he also knew that if they let the rumblings of a gang war continue down there, with Johnny finally sliding comfortably into Bo’s empty throne and the Bennetts pulling at Frankfort’s pigtails, shit was going to get real bad real fast. 

And that it wouldn’t be any kind of place to live anymore, let alone start a business. He was going to make damn sure nothing got in the way of Boyd getting clear of the mine, doing what he wanted to do with his life, for a fucking change.

Something hard must have come over Raylan’s face, because Art’s softened and Bergen looked between the two of them, just a little bit startled.

“I can step out--” Tom said, hesitantly.

“No,” Art said, with a heavy sigh. “Raylan, I know how bad you want to be down there, but I really do need you on shit up here. And frankly, I’m a little worried about you insinuating yourself into all this Bennett shit--”

“Insinuating?” Raylan asked, blinking. “What are you talking about?” Raylan’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “Harlan is my home, Art, where my--my family lives. I just want--”

“That’s right, Raylan,” Art sounded tired now. “Your family, and _that_ family. It’s personal, I get it. It just ain’t necessarily your goddamn job, now is it?”

Raylan just shook his head, baffled. Art never had a problem letting him deal with Harlan on his own terms before. Why the difference now? 

He turned swiftly back to his boss. “Shit,” he breathed, realizing, “Art, you been talking to Helen?”

Art didn’t respond. 

Tom looked like he was about to get up and sprint out of there, but Raylan held his hand out. “Art, you don’t need to listen to her about this business with the Bennetts. Come to think of it, goin’ behind my back and talking to my _aunt_ about a stupid thing like that-- _that_ I’m pretty sure is beyond the purview of _your_ job, don’t you think?”

He sounded too angry. Yelling wasn’t going to fix this.

“No, I do not, Raylan. Not when I’ve got you and Rachel and Tom, here, combing all over these people’s property on your hunch that they’re harboring a wanted man, when he’s actually miles out and trying to cross state lines with a teenage girl--”

“We got him, Art,” Raylan growled. “The girl is fine--”

“She sure is, good job doin’ your job, Deputy. But then I have Rachel coming in here and telling me she had her hands full with you and these people and some kind of history between you as well as the usual shit down there on account of you and Boyd. So, yeah, I am going to make some calls trying to figure out just what the goddamn deal is here. Then I get a hold of your aunt and she tells me a real interesting story--”

“Oh, Lord, Art, here we go--I was seventeen and--”

“You crippled a boy for hitting you with a curve ball--”

“In the head! He hit me in the goddamn head and he was about to blind me with his cleet,” Raylan cried. This was the last thing about him that he wanted Art to know. He also wished he’d let Tom leave the room. 

“So you took out his knee,” Art’s voice had dropped and he sounded almost disappointed. Raylan gritted his teeth. “Because your grandfather and his grandfather had a pissing match over a pig, or something?”

“It goes back farther than that and I really don’t remember.” At the roll of Art’s eyes, Raylan added, “it never mattered to me, either. Not then. Dickie fucking started the damn fight and I--” Raylan glanced at Tom and thought, what the hell. “I usually play this story cool to anybody knows enough to ask, Art, but truth be told, I remember it like a dream. I must’ve been concussed from the pitch, maybe the fall. I don’t know why I swung that bat so hard. And I passed out right after.”

Art was looking at him sort of funny and it made Raylan want to look away, but he didn’t.

“Just take him, Tom,” Art said finally, defeated.

Raylan didn’t know what to do. He felt like apologizing, but he hadn’t done anything wrong, not that he could discern. 

He let his mouth hang open and Art must have seen he wasn’t done, so he said, “I know you hate these people, Raylan, and I can see why just from what Rachel said about how they spoke to you regarding Boyd. But you gotta tread lightly here, because if something goes sideways, even if it’s from that or anything else, I won’t be able to protect you from all the shit raining down from above, all right?”

“I know, Art,” Raylan said. He wasn’t so foolish as to think he could get away with anything here. And truly, beyond Loretta, and beyond making sure Boyd stayed safe, he couldn’t give a shit what happened to any of the goddamn Bennetts.

 

On the way down to the parking lot, Tom told Raylan that Walt McCready's government draw check had been cashed with a shakier hand than usual.

Raylan knew there was no way Walt was cashing checks and not talking to his daughter on the damn phone, so he let out a long sigh and pressed his fingers to his eyes as they came out into the sunshine.

"You all right?" Tom asked, clearly also concerned about what happened in Art's office.

As they walked out and over to the vehicles, Raylan found himself saying, "I don't know, Tom. It's always something in this county and ever since Boyd went back to work down the mine, it seems like it's something and a half most days."

"But he still wants to be there," Tom replied.

"Yeah, and some days I know why, but others I just want to pick him up after his shift, tell the assholes in the trailer that it's his last, and shove him in the car, drive the fuck back up to Lexington and never come back down."

"Bet he wouldn't take too kindly to that."

Raylan laughed. "No, he loves Harlan. Makes me love it, too, I guess. And he don't like to be pushed around unless he's in a mood."

Tom gave him a look like that was a little too much information, but then he smiled. “You tell him you fantasize about saving him Officer and a Gentleman-style?”

Raylan blinked. Come to think of it, it sounded a lot like the end of that damn movie. “Shit.” He felt himself turn red. “Don’t tell Boyd.”

Tom laughed. His hand was at the handle to the State Police car door. “I can’t make any promises, Raylan.”

Raylan told Tom he’d try and scrounge up some information on check forging in Harlan on the drive down. He’d call him with anything useful.

When Boyd picked up he sounded groggy--as usual for a mid-morning these days. He listened and sighed heavily, just as Raylan had, when he heard the news about Walt.

“I mean,” Raylan felt the need, for some reason, to hedge about it, “He could be down there--in Florida. They could be cashing it for Loretta.”

Boyd laughed, loud and harsh. “Shut up, Raylan. He’s dead. He’s at the bottom of a mine shaft, or sunk in the slurry, and it’s--”

“Don’t say that,” Raylan growled. “It’s the fault of them that killed him and even if we can’t prove it right now, we can at least get his goddamn daughter away from them.”

“Baby, are you sure you want to get yourself so tied up in this?”

“Not you too,” Raylan grumbled. “Jesus, Boyd, the goddamn Bennetts ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle--”

“I’m not saying that, Raylan. It’s just--this kind of thing can escalate quickly.”

“And what? Sooner or later I’m gonna be taking my aluminum bat to Dickie Bennett’s other fucking knee? Christ, Boyd, I’m a Federal officer and have been for fifteen years, you’d think by now some people would have more faith in my ability to not break the goddamn law.”

He stopped there and realized it wasn’t Boyd he wanted to be yelling at, but he couldn't figure out how to take back the words before Boyd was saying, “Raylan, have you been talking to someone else about this? Did Helen call?” He sounded concerned rather than angry.

“Lord, I hope she doesn’t. Art had a nice chat with her, apparently. She told him about the whole deal and now he’s got a bug up his ass that I can’t handle this business anymore--”

“He’s just worried about you, baby.”

“He doesn’t have any goddamn reason to be,” Raylan insisted. “I was _seventeen_ , Boyd, and I told him that. It doesn’t make any difference to me now and it hardly did then. You were there. You know.”

Boyd sighed, softer than he had for Walt. “Baby, it makes a big difference to Dickie Bennett.”

Raylan supposed it did, so he didn’t say anything else.

“Bowman had a hand in forging checks back in the day, you remember,” Boyd said after a minute, like none of the argument before had happened. “That’s what got you over to Ava’s in the first place way back when you first came home.”

Raylan nodded. He’d almost forgotten. “But there was this man, Winston Baines, Bowman used to send ‘em off to, if he felt like he had too much goin’ on, or if he got lazy. Runs an ATV outfit up the mountain, Jesus-freak tourist trap, you must’ve heard of it.”

“You think he’s still in the game?” Raylan knew that place from the couple billboards they had up on the state highways going up the mountain.

“He might be for the Bennetts.” There was a pause, then Boyd added, rather hesitantly, “Baby, don’t… be too specific about who you are right away, maybe? That kind of man, with his kind of beliefs… he’s gonna know who we are. And he’s gonna hurt you before says a word to you.”

“All right,” Raylan said. It did make sense, so he was going to have to be more careful than usual. “I’ll stop by the house after. I’m not sure if I need to go back to Lexington tonight.”

“Only if you want to, baby,” Boyd said. “But I got a call just before you from Slinky, ‘member the other powder man? He wanted a last minute shift swap. I’m going in now and he’ll be in for the night. So, if you come home, and if you stay, I’ll be home too.”

“Well, I’ll just have to swing that somehow, then, won’t I?” Raylan said with a smile.

 

Raylan let Tom know of his plan to go see this ATV guy, Baines. They both decided a Highway Patrol car rolling up was the last thing a man like him was going to want to see, so Raylan went by himself, parking so the government plates on his car weren’t visible right away, and obscuring his badge as he introduced himself to Baines only as a “friendly neighborhood federal agent.”

He smiled cheerfully as Baines told him what-for, after a mild questioning of the religious integrity of the “Church of the Two-Stroke Jesus”--that the Church was sanctioned by the state and whatever else.

When Raylan brought up the checks, the man hedged a bit, strolling casually through his garage full of ATV junk that Raylan supposed he was expected to be impressed by, then denied he’d done any criminal activity for years on account of the Lord’s blessing. Baines kept looking at Raylan’s hat, too, so Raylan kept his hand near, but not too close to his side-arm.

When Raylan brought up McCready, and pulled out the forged checks against Baines’ previous conviction that send him to Little Sandy for a space of time, he perked up, came right on over and spotted Raylan’s badge, clear as day a Marshal’s star.

“What’d you say your name was, again?” he asked, expression darkening like a storm cloud.

Raylan wanted to swear, but it would have given him away. “I didn’t. Would you like to look at these checks for me?”

“I ask you that question, Mr. Federal Agent, I’m pretty sure you have to answer it. Or at least show me a badge, other than that shiny metal star you got on your belt.” Asshole.

Raylan grimaced, knowing Baines would err on the side of caution if he refused to tell him who he was. He made sure to use his left hand to reach for his wallet.

He was, however, unable to pull his weapon free from the holster before Baines pressed the twin electrodes of a goddamn taser into his chest, right at his sternum. 

He backed up fast against a workbench and arched his spine backwards over it as the shock ripped through his body, contracting all his muscles. His trigger finger pulled, his hands crumpling into claws of pain, and the weapon fired, shooting a bullet through the leather of his holster and, fortunately, into the meat of Baines’ thigh. 

Maybe not registering the pain right away, Baines pressed the taser still harder into him, like it was going to work better that way, but put some distance between their bodies with the force and with Raylan still arching backwards. Raylan used that, instinctively, to get the leverage to push the taser off him and, twisting the man’s hand with both of his clawed appendages, down to get the bastard right in the nuts.

They both fell to the ground.

“Ah shit,” Baines growled. “Shit. Shit--you shot me.”

Raylan smiled grimly, but it took him a minute to get out the labored words, “Tased you in the goddamn pecker too, dickhead.”

“Fuckin’ faggot.” 

And there it was. Raylan sat up slow, his whole body aching, his head pounding, heart beating too fast. He picked up the taser from where it had fallen between them and flicked the on switch, it made that charging noise, like a little electronic bell, or like a laser or something--incredibly satisfying.

“You want it in the mouth, asshole?”

“I know who you are, f--”

Raylan pressed down hard on the man’s wound, taser resting light in his other palm, until he groaned loudly. “And you know what I want,” Raylan growled. “Paramedics could be real far away for you, Baines. You willing to bet I didn’t nick an artery?”

“Fuck you, I ain’t talkin to anybody--let alone a goddamn sodomite.”

Raylan scowled. “I wouldn’t take your Lord’s name in vain right now, you bein’ hypothetically so near death.”

Baines was blinking hard and the wound was a little bloodier than Raylan liked. He was sure he hadn’t got an artery, but that didn’t mean Baines didn’t need a hospital.

“Not...talkin’...” Baines trailed off and passed out.

“Shit,” Raylan spat and made the call.

It was just after dark and he was wrapping everything up with the paramedics when the was a booming sound across the valley and the mountain on the other side of Harlan exploded.

All Raylan could think about then was Boyd.

 

The day had run long, it felt like, and Boyd was exhausted as he rode up and out of the black, to the waning sunlight of the day. It was a change for him, having so often worked to greet the sun lately.

As he walked across the dusty yard, he saw a truck pull up fast and four men climb out of it like they were on some kind of mission. One of them, moving slower than the others, was Slinky. The others were Kyle Easterly and his boys, who were loud about their raucous lifestyle, their time inside, and their dislike for fags and jews.

Boyd knew these boys and he knew Slinky McGregor wasn’t a party to their bullshit.

He caught the man by the elbow as they passed each other, smiling real big, even though Slinky looked like he was marching to his own funeral. “Hey, son, how you been?” Boyd asked cheerfully. “We almost never cross paths you an’ me.”

Slinky looked him long in the eye and tried for his own smile. “Good. G-good, Boyd. I--ah, thanks for switchin’ with me, on the late notice an’ everything--”

“Oh, that’s nothin’,” Boyd replied quickly. “It ain’t like I got someone waitin’ for me at home on the regular like you, with Raylan bein’ in Lexington all the time.” The man looked real uncomfortable now, his eyes growing big as Boyd grasped the ball of his elbow, the joint bone, hard. “Now, you tell me,” he said slowly, “if you need anything else, all right?”

One of Kyle’s boys, the tall blonde thug, growled that they had to get inside. They hadn’t ever waited on Boyd before. They weren’t Slinky’s friends. Boyd knew them.

“Shelby’s gonna need your help. They had me hook up a remote.” Slinky said, talking out of the side of his mouth, then he smiled uncertainly again. “Thanks again, Boyd.” He walked back to those boys. 

Big and Blonde watched Boyd walk to his truck--everyone else had emptied from the yard by that time, either down in the hole, or gone home--and drive away.

He turned around not 500 feet from where he started and parked around the other side of the office trailer. He walked in slow, and raised his hands because it looked like Shelby, the old guard who used to be Sheriff maybe ten years back, had his finger on the trigger of the shotgun Boyd knew was mounted under his desk.

“I ain’t here to rob you, Shelby,” Boyd said.

“Well, I didn’t figure you for no thug, Boyd,” the old man said slowly. “Not with how long you been out of it.”

Boyd smiled. “You got me, sir. But I think some other people are fixing to knock over this trailer tonight. If I were you, I’d make whatever calls you need to.”

“On account of what do you think someone’s gonna knock me over?”

“On the fact that I got a surprise request for a shift switch from Slinky this morning and that I know your armored car friends ain’t been here three days running, but did make it through today.”

Shelby looked at him hard. “You’re a quick one.” He reached for the phone. “Don’t suppose I should expect anything less.”

Boyd wasn’t quite sure how to take that, so he just walked further into the dingy trailer, with its particleboard desks and walls the color of muddy water from the coal dust in the air.

“You gonna make a call of your own?” Shelby asked, a moment later, looking at him with knowledge, but no real hatred or fear. The phone was in his hand.

“I’d very much like to,” Boyd answered, “but, as I said, these boys have enlisted themselves a powderman for their scheme and I worry that there’s a radio detonator close by to create chaos for an escape of some kind. You best make your calls now, and from the land line, so we don’t blow somebody or ourselves sky high.”

Shelby nodded, already dialing the three digit number.

It wasn’t long enough for the law to show up before Kyle and his boys come piling into the trailer, guns-a-blazing, whooping and hollering.

They all stopped dead when they saw that Shelby had his shotgun out from under the desk and tight in his hands, aiming right at their hearts. There was no other gun for Boyd to pull, so he stood at Shelby’s flank and kept his eyes on their twitchy trigger fingers. Slinky was with them, the big one pulling him in by the collar of his coveralls.

Kyle spun around to look at the beleaguered man. “What’s your friend doing here?” he asked angrily. “What’d you tell him?”

“Enough,” Shelby said, before Boyd or Slinky could respond. “Guns on the ground, boys. There’s scattershot loaded in this barrel. At this range, you’re all going down and none of you pretty. So let’s just put those guns down and wait for the law.

The boys did not like to be caught out. Their expressions ranged from shocked and confused to a stormy anger in Kyle’s face at which Boyd was not surprised in the least. He was not about to lay down his gun. 

The one near the back, in the coat with the stringy hair, looked a little unstable, but he took an order well and was in the midst of bending down to drop his gun when Kyle swung his arm back and grabbed a duffel bag from Slinky’s hands.

“Boyd, the blasting caps!” Slinky yelled and, with the strength of a man pushed beyond his limits, he tore himself out of the grasp of Big and Blonde and stumbled out the door, undoubtedly sprinting as far and as fast away as possible.

Kyle smiled like he’d just won and said, “I got a bag full of emulex, blasting caps, and detonator right here, gentlemen. You really wanna go?”

“You really wanna blow us all to hell, son?” Shelby said. Boyd was content to let him do the talking.

“We’re desperate men!” Kyle cried, still speaking as though he thought all those explosives were somehow going to get him out of the situation. “If Marcus goes down, he’s got his third strike. Pruitt’s on parole, not even supposed to have a gun. You wanna save your skins, you put down that shotgun, old man, and you let us take that cash.”

Boyd nodded when Shelby glanced at him. Shelby turned back to Kyle and said, “I think we’re gonna call your bluff, asshole.”

The sound of sirens was coming up the mountain and the other two boys were starting to look scared. Their eyes flashed from the door to Kyle and back a few times. “You ain’t gonna blow it, are you?” The one in the coat asked.

Marcus, Big and Blonde, shook his head, “Shut up. It’s fucked. Let’s just go.”

Kyle pulled the detonator out of the bag, his eyes wide and fearless. “Have it your way,” he said to Shelby and threw the bag on the ground.

Boyd could see what was in it as it opened--only a few tubes of emulex and two blasting caps. Boyd ran forward as Kyle was walking out, detonator in his hand, thumb on the button. Their eyes met as Boyd grabbed at the bag and threw it towards the door, even as Kyle pressed down. 

Boyd didn’t have time to see the expression on the boy’s face, because he pivoted right around and practically leaped at Shelby, knocking him to the ground behind the thick wooden desk and scrambling up to push it forward to try and shield them from the worst of the blast.

The trailer exploded in a barrage of fire and sound and Boyd heard screams at the back end of it as shards of aluminum siding and door frame and window glass blew past him along with the heat and the noise until it was too much and he found darkness.


	4. Threshold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylan and Boyd deal with fallout from the mine explosion and the difficulties of living apart.

Raylan sped down from Baines’ ATV shack and through the town, trying to get as fast as he could to the Plackett mine across the valley. On the way, he called Boyd, who didn’t pick up.

“It better not be you, asshole,” Raylan muttered as he dialed Tom, eyes only half on the road. “I’m gonna kill you again if you’re dead.” He blinked hard. “I’m gonna burn the fucking house down.”

When Tom picked up, Raylan asked the Trooper, “You hear what it was?”

“Yeah, it’s on the scanner. Botched robbery attempt at the Plackett mine. Four miners came into the office with a couple guns and a bag of explosives. Mine security, mind you that’s one guy, got a tip off from another miner something was brewing. There was some kind of altercation and the trailer blew up instead of the mine.”

Raylan had never felt his heart beat so fast. “They all dead?”

“No, most of them are okay. Two got burned bad and broke some limbs, I guess. Harlan Sheriff got there just in time to see the fireworks and pick ‘em up as they scrambled out.”

“What about the other two? Tom, Boyd’s not picking up his phone.” Raylan could hear the desperation in his voice. He was still at the bottom of the mountain.

“Oh, shit. Listen, I think they’re fine,” Tom said quickly. “Let me get on the horn, find out for you.”

About a minute later, a century long of garbled radio sounds and unintelligible speech, Tom came back to the phone and said, “Raylan, it was Boyd, but he’s okay. They checked him out, he’s totally fine.”

Raylan said something he later couldn’t remember in thanks to Tom and flipped his phone closed. He couldn’t let go of the tension he’d been holding onto the whole drive without beating on the steering wheel a couple times and letting the word “shit,” blow out of his lungs with every breath.

Boyd was sitting on the back end of an ambulance when Raylan found him, wrapped in a blanket. His face was streaked with coal dust and dirt and there was blood, dried, but sticky looking, down his temple and to the underside of his jaw. He was looking down at his hands.

Raylan couldn’t really form the proper words to swear again, he just made this strangled, garbled noise, and said, “ _Boyd_ , really loudly. Boyd looked up and Raylan was there, right next to him, and it was the space of half a moment, absolutely no thought, before Raylan was kissing him, hard.

Boyd seemed bowled over by the whole thing and barely moved to kiss him back.

When Raylan broke away, Boyd was looking up and smiling at him. “That was a surprise,” he said.

“Jesus, darlin’,” Raylan murmured, taking Boyd’s face in his hands. “What the fuck?”

“Somebody tried to rob the mine,” Boyd said, speaking slowly. Raylan wasn’t sure if it was because of the cut on his head that someone had already seen to, or if he was just tired. “Then they tried to blow us up.”

Raylan frowned at him, stroking the hair back and away from his cut. It didn’t look too deep. “Who’s us?”

“Me an’ Shelby,” Boyd said and looked over at someone also sitting on the ambulance that Raylan hadn’t even realized was there.

Shelby Parlow, who was once Sheriff for some amount of time Raylan wasn’t really sure of, was giving them a look that seemed to be a smile. Raylan thought he might be imagining it, however, since it also seemed to be in reaction to what he’d just witnessed between the two of them.

“Boyd, here, saved my life,” Shelby said and looked at them like their being so close didn’t bother him in the least. Raylan wasn’t about to move away anyway. “He’s a hero.”

Raylan looked back at Boyd who was closing his eyes and shaking his head. He leaned his forehead on Raylan’s stomach. “Is that so?” Raylan asked, drawing his palm around to cradle the back of Boyd’s neck.

Boyd snorted, but Raylan looked over to see Shelby nodding, watching them consideringly.

“It is,” Shelby said. “He came in, told me something was up. Got the cops on their way. And he tipped the desk over, when the blasting caps went off, protected us from most of the blast.”

Raylan looked back over at the mangled trailer, half open into the night, strewn with singed files and twenty and fifty dollar bills fluttering in the breeze.

“Shit, darlin’,” he said absently. He wanted to say, “I told you so,” but Shelby was right there and it seemed like something an asshole would do. “What were you even still here for?” he asked instead. Boyd should have been off shift over an hour ago.

“Slinky was trying to tell me something,” Boyd replied. “Those assholes weren’t no friends of his.” He was leaning heavy on Raylan now and Raylan could feel the eyes of the rest of the yard on them. What he’d said wasn’t too specific, but Raylan was confident he’d get the rest of the story later.

“Your head hurtin’?” Raylan asked him, drawing his fingers back down to Boyd’s cheek, trying to catch his eye.

"Paramedics shot that wound up with novocaine before they stitched it. Gave him a pill for the pain in his head. Said he didn't have a concussion. Though both our ears were ringing something fierce."

Raylan looked Shelby over. His hair was mussed, but all his scratches were superficial. "You look all right."

"He saved my life," Shelby said again, sounding truly thankful, so Raylan nodded.

"You think we can go home now?" Boyd asked him. "I wanted to before, but they wouldn't let me."

"We had to give statements," Shelby said, by way of explanation. "And they hadn't touched his cut yet. It was practically gushing."

Raylan's lips thinned. He was sort of glad Shelby was there, Boyd would have played the whole thing off as nothing, or said he didn't remember. "Well, I'm not gonna let them stop us from getting the hell out of here now," he said to Boyd. "They need to talk to you, they know where to find you. Can you stand?"

Boyd slid off the ambulance enthusiastically. His smile was big, though his eyes were still tired. "You're the best, baby" he said. Raylan had to grab at his arm to stop him from walking off too fast.

“You need a ride, Shelby?” Raylan asked. As far as he knew, the man didn’t have anyone coming to get him.

“Nah, I’m okay to drive. And my car’s still here. I was just waiting’ on somebody for him, seeing as he was looking a little woozy from all the blood-loss even before they gave him that pill.” Shelby stood too.

Boyd looked miffed now, annoyed at being perceived as helpless, or maybe reminded of the roofie thing those years back. “It was just a vicodin,” he grumbled. “I’m _fine_.”

Shelby smiled. “You give him somethin’ good tonight, Marshal,” he said and walked away.

Raylan and Boyd just stared after him. 

Until Boyd poked Raylan in the shoulder a couple times and raised his eyebrows. “You gonna?”

Raylan just kissed him again and let the rest of them look.

 

They didn’t say much in the car on the drive home. It was decided, with silent unanimity, that they would leave Boyd’s truck at the mine and come back to get it whenever they could.

Raylan kept his eyes on the road and his jaw slightly clenched as they drove down the mountain. The car was dark and Raylan didn’t want to see the blood on Boyd’s face anymore anyway.

After a while, he heard Boyd stir a little bit in his seat, stretching somehow, or shifting to be more comfortable. A moment later, he said, “I know you’d like nothing better than to shove this is my face, Raylan. But before you get started, I want to tell you to save it. I know, and you were right, but I ain’t backing out now, okay?”

Raylan looked over at him and he didn’t know what kind of expression was on his face, but all he was thinking about was thinking that Boyd might be dead. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought to say something like that, darlin’,” he replied slowly. 

Boyd looked at him sharply, at whatever was in his face, and the quiet tone in his voice.

He continued, in just the same way, “But, I don’t want to. I don’t need to save that shit, for now or later--Boyd, I thought you were dead. I mean, I wasn’t sure, but I-I thought you might have died tonight. The last thing I want to do is argue about the goddamn mine.”

Boyd blinked at him and frowned, like he felt bad for thinking the worst, but Raylan gave him a half-smile and shook his head. Boyd reached over, then, and put his hand on Raylan’s knee.

Raylan let his hand drop from the steering wheel and wrapped his fingers around Boyd’s, squeezing them tight all the way home.

 

When they came in, Raylan led Boyd up the stairs and into the bathroom, letting him sit heavily down on the toilet. He went right over to the sink and wet a washcloth with warm water.

“Take off your clothes,” he said softly, but with no heat.

Boyd smirked at him anyway as he obliged, though his eyes were tired and he looked almost frightening with all that blood and dirt all over him. They threw Boyd’s coveralls into the corner, neither particularly interested in taking special care with them, or with the state of the bathroom floor.

Raylan turned and pressed the washcloth to Boyd’s face gently, his free fingers brushing just under his chin. 

Boyd eyed him and said, just as quietly, as though a hush had fallen over them both and the house, “I can do that, you know.”

“Shut up,” Raylan said and Boyd closed his mouth. 

He worked slowly, going back once to rinse the blood from the white cloth, because there were tiny abrasions across his cheeks and forehead from the blast. He didn’t want to open them up further, but they should be clean, at least, before they crawled into bed.

Boyd’s head was leaning more and more heavily against Raylan’s hand that held him still and his eyes were closed now. Raylan couldn’t really imagine being soothed by anything like what he was doing--like a big wet tongue across your cheek for ten minutes straight. Maybe Boyd was just that tired.

He moved back to the sink, rinsing the cloth out again, and when he turned back, Boyd was blinking at him sleepily. He looked sort of adorably pathetic, sitting there in his underwear and shirt, ready to pitch forward from exhaustion. His hands were still black from the coal dust and there was some blood on them too, from where it must have dripped off his face.

“You have to get those stitches taken out?” Raylan asked. Boyd moved to rub his face, but Raylan stepped forward and caught his hand with the washcloth. He kneeled down in front of him so he didn’t have to bend over to get at his hands. “Hold on, darlin’,” he murmured and Boyd grinned at him.

“My head feels funny,” Boyd replied, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to the crook of Raylan’s shoulder.

“Funny bad?” Raylan asked, turning slightly speaking low into Boyd’s ear. He wasn’t too excited for a trip to the hospital tonight, but if Boyd said something was wrong, they’d go. “Shelby said they told you no concussion.”

“No, not like that. I think it’s the pain pill--the room’s spinning.”

Raylan was finished with Boyd’s hands, so he put the cloth aside and drew his fingers into Boyd’s dusty hair, running his fingernails in soothing circles across his scalp. Boyd let out a heavy sigh and Raylan smiled, huffing into his ear. “Better?”

“Just put me to bed, baby,” he groaned.

Raylan stood then and pulled Boyd up, taking Boyd’s hand and pulling his arm across his shoulders. They walked slowly into the bedroom and when they reached the bed, he let Boyd slip down and onto his back. Boyd smiled, wide and soft, and looked up at Raylan as he began to take off his own clothes.

“Mm sorry you thought I was dead,” he murmured.

Raylan didn’t really know what to say to that. 

It wasn’t all right, but it wasn’t Boyd’s fault, forgiveness was beside the point. He knew the job was dangerous and he didn’t have a leg to stand on to try and argue Boyd out of it--never had really--what with his own avenue of employment.

“What happened to your phone?”

Boyd closed his eyes. “Would you believe? I left it in my locker.”

Raylan frowned, more confused than angry. “What?”

Boyd turned over on the mattress, pillowing his head in his arms and curling up like he was going to go to sleep sideways on it. Raylan had stopped undressing, his pants down at his feet. “Those boys was rushing me off the yard. I talked to Slinky and he said Shelby and detonator...and they wanted me out so I went and came back...”

Raylan shook his head. He bent over and kissed Boyd softly on the mouth, lips brushing lips, light and sweet. “Nevermind, darlin’. Tell me tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Boyd murmured.

“And get your head on the pillow, boy. I got to sleep too.” Raylan smiled at his efforts to move, clumsy with sleep, dragging coal dust across the coverlet from his hair. He’d complain tomorrow Raylan hadn’t made him rinse it all out in the shower.

When they were both settled, Boyd made his way across the bed and over to Raylan’s side, pressing close and sighing some more. He pressed his forehead to the base of Raylan’s neck, big spoon to his little, and whispered, “Mm floating away, Raylan.”

Raylan’s brow creased. It was more than a little an unusual thing to say.

“Might... burn up in the atmosphere...”

Raylan wondered if he was dreaming. He pulled his hand around his back, searching for Boyd’s. When he found it, he held on tight. “No, you won’t,” he said clearly. “I’ve got you.”

Boyd smiled against his skin. Raylan could feel it. “When’d you get so good? Takin’ care of me,” he said.

Raylan felt like he hadn’t really done all that much. But it felt nice, knowing Boyd thought he was good at it, at this thing he’d fairly recently realized might be a good idea, might be something he wanted, or couldn’t live without.

He thought it was right around the time Boyd decided he didn’t always have to be the one who was taking care of things. Right around the time they realized it wasn’t any good to keep things held back.

He was fairly sure Boyd already had by the time he simply replied, “Go to sleep, darlin’.”

 

It was a Wednesday afternoon and Loretta had just settled in at the counter, Mags was making her way out the door of the store, off to “take care of some things,” again, when a car pulled up. Loretta heard it and she heard the halting of Mags’ heavy step.

Car doors opened and closed and Loretta spun on her stool, climbing up on the table under the dusty side-sliding window to peer out and see Raylan and Boyd standing in the dirt driveway. 

Raylan was standing just at the driver’s side door, not quite leaning against it, his badge plain and visible as the white hat on his head. His hand was on his belt, just in front of where his gun hung from it’s holster, like an honest-to-God cowboy.

Boyd must have walked around the back on the big town car to position himself just at Raylan’s flank. His arms were crossed and there was a deep cut coming up to his hairline and little cuts all across his face. She wondered, frowning, if he’d been in a fight, then she wondered what the hell they were doing there.

“Marshal,” she heard Mags say, a little harder than would be sincerely polite.

“Mags,” Raylan said. Loretta figured Mags wasn’t going to say anything to Boyd, who didn’t offer his own greeting anyway--not after last time, which she only heard about.

“That faggoty Crowder, lives with the Marshal, was lookin’ for you,” Coover had said. “Bet he wants inside you like Jimmy did. Don’t let him get too close, little girl.” Loretta’s face had twisted in disgust. “He’ll make you a dyke or somethin’.” He’d smiled and she jutted her jaw and said nothing. “Or is it too late?” She’d wondered later what Mags had said to Boyd, to get Coover so riled up about it.

“What can I help you with today, Raylan?” There wasn’t any pleasant small talk now. It made Loretta nervous to go out there, even though she very much wanted to. She wanted Raylan and Boyd to see her.

The window was dirty, but Raylan’s smile moved slow enough for Loretta to catch it. “I’m here about Walt McCready,” he said. Loretta sprinted for the door.

“What about him?” Loretta asked, breathlessly as she came out into the sunlight. She was about to ask again, but lost her voice when Mags moved a step closer to her and Raylan’s eyes grew wide, as though he wasn’t expecting her to be party to this conversation.

“Yes, Raylan,” Mags voice had grown even darker and Loretta was finally scared. “What about Walt?”

Raylan squinted at them and began to speak slowly, measured, as though weighing his options even as he was taking a gamble. “Well, I know you’re cashing Walt’s draw checks for him. I spoke to your friend Winston Baines just yesterday afternoon. You know, we were having a real nice chat, but then his taser had a run in with the wrong end of my service pistol. They took him to the hospital, and he’ll be okay, but since he assaulted me, he’s goin’ away for a bit.” Raylan smiled then, like he put one over on everybody there and said, “That money goin’ to Loretta, or you keepin’ it as income these days?”

Loretta looked fast over at Mags and it was obvious she hadn’t known any of that. Her face was dark and her hand came down hard on Loretta’s shoulder.

“That all you know?” she asked.

Raylan shrugged. “That’s all I know for certain, but I got some mighty powerful hunches, some interesting ideas. And I’ve shared those, with Boyd, with my fellow Marshals, and with a State Trooper friend of mine.”

Mags’ expression did not change. “What is it that you’re aiming to gain, Raylan? With your unfounded accusations and empty threats?”

Raylan raised his hands and his eyebrows. But it was Boyd who said, “There wasn’t any such thing, Mags. I’d swear to it.”

Mags scowled. “You’d do just about anything, Boyd Crowder.”

Both their eyes flashed at that, in something like anger, but then they smiled, the same toothy grin, like Mags was right and they didn’t give any more damns about it.

Doyle rolled up then and Loretta wondered how he knew to come, or if he’d just been on his way over anyway. He pulled himself from his big old Sheriff’s SUV and walked over with some urgency. He planted himself in the middle of Mags and Loretta and Raylan and Boyd, but off to the side, though he looked to be inching towards his mama.

“He lookin’ for the boys?” Doyle asked Mags. She shook her head and Doyle turned to Raylan then, not interested in guessing games, Loretta supposed. “What’re you back here for then, Givens?”

Raylan just looked at Loretta. “I got a guilty conscience and an empty guest room,” he said. She felt her eyes grow big.

Boyd glanced sidelong at him and amended, “We do.”

Mags stepped forward, speaking with real emotion in her voice, “This child’s father asked that I look after her, Marshal. I won’t have you get in the way of that.”

Raylan’s mouth twisted. “Funny, he asked the same of us, last time we saw him--and I haven’t heard any different, so.” He looked between Mags and Doyle, his eyes sharp still, and he said, “I ain’t calling you a liar, Mags,” though his tone made it clear he would have liked to, “I’m just going by what I _know_.”

Mags’ fingers tightened around Loretta’s shoulder, so hard she wanted to bend under it, to try and pull away. She didn’t, gritting her teeth. 

Mags said, desperation increasing, “You cannot take this girl from me, Raylan Givens. Not to your… to that house of iniquity--”

Raylan’s eyes went cold and Boyd shifted again behind him as he spoke. “Iniquity aside, Mags, why do you think that I can’t?”

“You ain’t got the jurisdiction.” That was Doyle. He had a hand on his sidearm like he was thinking about pulling on Raylan, though knew better. Everyone who could give a damn in Harlan knew how fast Raylan was, just like they knew who lived in his house and why.

“I don’t need jurisdiction, Doyle,” Raylan said, though he was looking at Mags. “I know Walt’s left town, one way or another. Don’t know where he is precisely, but I do know that last I spoke to him, he asked me--Boyd and me--to look after his daughter. Now, personally, I don’t think leaving her in your hands is quite cutting it, and I do like to keep my promises, so--with her willing cooperation--I’m going to take her where I damn well please until such time as her father can be located.” He turned and looked right into Loretta’s eyes. “Does that sound all right with you?”

She nodded.

Boyd spoke next, lower than Raylan, but pitched so his voice would carry across the yard. “You need anything from what you have here in this house?”

She shook her head no.

Raylan stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Then let’s go.”

And she went, quick as a bunny, and Boyd opened the car door for her, as Raylan’s hand brushed across her shoulders. 

As she was sliding inside, along the back seat, she heard Raylan say, “You let them boys try to hinder us on our way out of this holler, I will shoot them, and if they catch one of my bullets, someone will have to explain to a great many people why it is you need Walt McCready's daughter on your hands so very badly, Mags. You might even have to tell somebody exactly where it is that you sent him and why it is he ain’t back yet to care for her. You try and touch this girl again, or you set your boys on her to take her back to your holler, and I will bring to bear upon you all the powers of federal and state law enforcement that I can muster--and that’s not an insignificant amount.”

Boyd had slipped into the back with her and she pressed her face into his legs and the words fell from her lips with the tears from her eyes as they drove out of there. “He’s dead, ain’t he?”

“We can’t prove it.” She heard sorrow in Raylan’s voice from the driver’s seat, but not certainty.

Boyds hand moved across her hair, it was bigger than Mags’ and harder, but it felt safe. Better. “It’s likely that he is, honey.” His voice was soft. “We don’t want to lie to you. But if we push them to find out--that’s like kicking a hornet’s nest. Somebody’s gonna get stung.”

She sat up and scrubbed at her eyes. She jutted her jaw and looked Boyd in the face. “What happens now?”

“We go home,” he told her.

 

Loretta hadn’t been able to get most of her stuff from her house when she was staying with Mags. So that’s where they went first.

It would be once a week maybe she’d tell the old woman, ‘I don’t have this’ or ‘let me go get that just from my house,’ but Mags bought her everything she asked for new--or new-ish--and she never had a way to make it back down to the little holler and their house, and the crop.

She didn’t have any illusions she’d be able to get a look at her weed field today.

When Raylan and Boyd took her back, right before she slid her key in the door, Raylan grabbed her arm, not roughly, but hard and gave her a helpless look. “Just...get your things, just from your room, okay? Don’t touch anything else.”

Loretta swallowed something sharp in her throat and nodded.

She scooped up her clothes in her gym duffel and in the suitcase she kept under her bed that she only used the one time they visited her Gram up in Hazard for a whole weekend before she passed, just a year before Mama. She grabbed her almost gone shampoo and her flat tube of toothpaste and shoved them in the outside pocket of the duffel bag. 

She held her mother’s jewelry box in one hand and rolled her suitcase out with the other. The box was small and dusty and the spare pieces of gold--an old cross on a rosary since she was Irish-Catholic and her engagement, wedding, and ten-year anniversary rings from when things had been better--rattled around inside it.

Raylan and Boyd looked at her, twin expressions she couldn’t decipher on their faces. 

She guessed that came with living with a person for so long, you just start to look like each other, do the same things. She never noticed until her mama was gone, that Daddy would tap his fingers on the stove when he was bored cooking just like she would--when he cooked at all. After that, Loretta started doing it too, just because.

“Is that it?” Raylan asked, clearly nervous about something, or impatient. Loretta wished she could read him better sometimes. She didn’t usually have so much trouble with people, even Mags was easier to put a finger on than the Marshal, and Boyd, she supposed, if he was feeling particularly Marshal-like.

She thought maybe now she’d get a chance to try.

Boyd gave him a look and took the suitcase from her before she could respond. He looked at her swiftly after, and smiled, sort of in apology, like Raylan had said something mean. “If you forgot something, ain’t no reason we can’t come back and get it. Right?” His eyes were back on Raylan.

“No, not yet,” Raylan said softly. Loretta tightened her lips. They didn’t say much on the ride to their house.

When they got there, Raylan said she could go on up to the spare room and put her things away wherever she wanted. She could use that room now, as far as he was concerned, it was hers. Boyd looked up at that from where he was fooling around with the phone on the wall--checking messages maybe-- and they exchanged another look that must have meant something important, because they were both real still, though their expression didn’t change so much as soften.

She climbed the stairs and rolled her suitcase in the room, dumped the bag and went right back out again, creeping silently towards the stairs and down a few steps, trying to hear.

She was lucky they hadn’t moved further into the house, or up the stairs at all.

“Mine wants me in tomorrow for some reason,” Boyd was saying. 

“I thought they gave you the week, on account of your being a hero,” Raylan said and Loretta couldn’t tell if he was kidding or not. She’d heard there was an explosion at Plackett, where Daddy used to work, but she didn’t know Boyd had anything to do with it.

There was a barb in Boyd’s voice. Loretta didn’t want to get close enough to look, she’d certainly get caught that way. “They did, or they said they did. I’ll get a goddamn doctor’s note if they want me to crawl down there tomorrow, my shoulder’s still sore from taking Shelby down.”

Raylan laughed at him, “A linebacker you are not, darlin’, I’ll give you that.”

“I pulled him down, didn’t I?” They were almost certainly closer to each other now, they were talking softer.

She remembered back to when she stayed in this house before, and she’d creeped in close to their door, hearing them talk about her daddy and what Mags might want. She was glad now she’d done that, and had known not to take Mags at her word, not to trust that her daddy was really all right.

That night she’d heard them talking, calling each other by names only they used. Daddy had always called Mama “Sweet,” like he picked her up at a candy store and she’d called him Mac sometimes, and no one else ever did, or “my man,” like that made him the greatest being that ever walked the earth. So she knew Boyd and Raylan really were together, like a husband and wife would be.

Some assholes at school would talk sometimes about the Marshal and his Nazi boyfriend, even though everyone knew Boyd Crowder went straight--like that joke never got old--a long time ago. Memories were long in Harlan, even for the kids. They would say Boyd and Raylan were just trying to rile people up, that Raylan had left Harlan and got some “East Coast” ideas about fags being normal and wanted to spread the word like some kind of gospel. 

That idea never made any sense to Loretta at all, but it would make people mad and and let them feel better both at the same time, so she guessed she understood it. It wasn’t like she agreed or anything, or thought they should be mad in the first place. 

She listened to the small noises of a let out breath, a sigh, their lips meeting softly. She closed her eyes, like that might curb her intrusion. She knew they weren’t done talking.

“You don’t think you need to call any authorities? Social services?” It was Boyd asking.

There was caution in Raylan’s tone as he answered. “There’s not a lot to do until Walt’s located. She could go into temporary foster care, but I’d like to think here’s better than some juvenile hall. They don’t place transitional kids into families. She’s a tough girl, but everyone has a rough time in those places. If I make anything official, that’s what they’ll want to do. No way they’ll let the two of us keep her, even on a temporary basis.” There was a sour note now.

Boyd sighed. “You won’t get in trouble for hiding such a thing?”

Loretta could practically hear Raylan’s shrug. “Art might get a little pissy, but not any more than he is about the Bennett shit. Anybody else can go shove it up their ass.”

“Nice, baby.” 

Loretta smiled.

 

Raylan drove back up to Lexington shortly after he'd shared an early dinner with Boyd and Loretta. The girl had insisted on helping, so Boyd put her to work making a box of mac and cheese while he sliced up some ham Helen had pushed on them after she heard Boyd was almost blown up.

He cooked up some onions and peppers too, saying everybody had to eat their vegetables now, and making Loretta give him a funny look, like she was miffed he thought she might not.

He'd smiled and nudged her, explaining, "Raylan is not enthusiastic about peppers."

"Only the way you make them," Raylan grumbled from where he sat at the table, watching them. He liked peppers fine in Mexican food. If they weren't spicy, they were no good to him.

"You don't get to complain, if you're not the one cookin'," Loretta said, then blushed. "That's what Mama used to say."

Boyd laughed about that for a while.

The food was good and Raylan had been reluctant to leave, but Boyd reminded him with resigned eyes that Art was already mad he was still in Harlan, and the sooner he got back the better. They both knew Boyd couldn't go with him, not with Loretta staying, and not with the mine calling for whatever goddamn reason.

Raylan made a face until Boyd kissed it smooth, as Loretta was apparently happily doing the dishes in the kitchen where Raylan had left her when he said goodbye. They'd stayed close for a few minutes, Boyd's fingers curling around his, until Raylan broke away and said, "I'll be back on the weekend."

"I know it," Boyd said, shutting the door behind him.

When Raylan came into the bar, through the side door he most often used, he groaned out loud. He'd forgotten there would be a band playing that night. They were good, but they were also one of the rowdier ones. He was feeling shitty and pretty much just wanted to go to bed, but he also knew he was too wound up to just fall asleep. Not with the bass bumping up through his floor.

It didn't usually bother him, but he grimaced, climbing the stairs to throw his shit on the bed, then climbing right back down and ordering a bourbon, Booker's, as he was in a mood to try and make himself feel better.

He texted Boyd, thinking that might get the process started, but all he got to his complaint about the band was, _That's what you get when you decide you're gonna live above a bar_.

Raylan frowned and put his phone away, looking up in time to see Winona, from the courthouse and from those dates they went on in Salt Lake, stepping through the door.

She saw him immediately, and smiled in a confused sort of way that looked lovely on her face--though Raylan would be hard-pressed to say what expression didn't. "Hey there," she said, a wider smile tugging at her lips as she perched on the stool next to him. "I heard you were down in Harlan again. What are you doing here? Oh, you don't mind if I sit here, do you?" 

Raylan laid his palm out for her, inviting. "I'm not waiting on anybody," he replied. "I was in Harlan, but Art wanted me back, so here I am."

"You don't sound too excited about it," she said, leaning over the bar and looking for Lindsey, who was definitely not going to bite until the boys at the bar had been served. Raylan looked over their heads to meet her eye and nod. She made a face at him but came over anyway. Winona ordered a Maker's. He'd forgotten she was a whiskey-drinker.

"Some stuff went down in Harlan in the past two days," he barely explained. "I just wish..." He trailed off, realizing he didn't want her to hear what he wished was that Boyd could just come back with him. She'd want to know why he couldn't. He really didn't want to tell her his life story, which was just about entirely entangled in what was going on with him in Harlan.

"I'm sorry," she murmured in a tone that made him wonder just what she was thinking it might be. But again he didn't want to go into it. She took a sip of her drink, and tilted her head in his direction. "But what are you doing in this place? I thought you were on Richmond Road or something, in one of those strip motels. This is sort of a trek isn't it? For a weeknight."

"Could say the same for you," he replied, though it was just a hunch. She seemed like a suburb kind of girl to him. "And anyway I live up there," he said, pointing towards the ceiling. "I moved a while back, after… the thing."

Her eyes widen after a moment. "Oh, _shit_ , that thing. I'm so sorry," she said in a rush. She rolled her eyes at herself. "You'd think I'd remember the biggest subject of inter-office gossip in the last five years or so."

He snorted. "Really, I'm glad you didn't."

She giggled self-consciously and he found himself wondering about her. She was a beautiful woman, striking and poised, but sometimes she was sort of funny, with this strange awkwardness that would emerge every once in a while. It succeeded in making her seem more human, and ultimately, a lot more attractive.

He told himself not to think at all about her physical or emotional attractiveness, even though Boyd kept doing this wonderful and terrible thing where he'd bring her up every once in a while as a possible third.

Except, he'd never say it that way. He'd say something casual like, "We could get a girl," like you just pick one up at the store. Then he'd drop Winona's name and watch the heat rise in Raylan's eyes.

Fuck him. He didn't have to work with her all the time.

Raylan shook his head. It wasn't even that much. He actually hadn't seen her in a couple weeks. But now that he'd had a good look at her for a few minutes, he noticed some things. There was a brightness to her eyes and more red around them. He thought she might have been crying. Her clothes weren't exactly rumpled, but they didn't look so finely pressed as usual, like she'd had less time to take her usual care.

"Are you okay?" he asked her sincerely and then immediately regretted it because there was a flash in her eyes like she thought she might cry from him asking.

She pushed it back fast enough both of them could pretend it had never been there and gave him a watery smile. "I just… haven't had the greatest week," she said heavily. He raised his eyebrows so she added, "Just some man trouble. I thought I'd said goodbye, but I guess neither of us believed me."

Raylan leaned forward. "You need some help delivering the message to him?"

She stared for a moment then burst out laughing, not long, but loud enough he leaned back again, frowning hard.

"No no, Raylan," she protested. "It's nothing that serious. You can help if you can figure out some way to prevent me from pulling him back into my bed every other week, okay?" 

Raylan thought he and Boyd could probably put their heads together and come up with a few very creative ways of getting that done, but he wasn't about to tell her that either. So he smiled, raised his glass, and just said, "All right."

She beamed at him like he'd just performed a trick for her, and it was sort of hard to take, so he turned and ordered them two more drinks.

"So, I gather you're just here all the time," she said when he turned back. "I'm here for the band."

"You like bluegrass now?" he asked. He definitely remembered her calling it all shit in Salt Lake.

She gave him a hopeless look and raised her hands like he'd got her. "I'm in Kentucky now, honey. You can call me a hypocrite if you want, all right?"

He didn't bother and they had two more, just listening, before he asked if she wanted to come upstairs for another. He wasn't thinking about anything other than taking off his shoes and sitting on Boyd's side of the couch.

Lindsey gave him a look as they passed by the end of the bar, but he just shook his head and she shrugged as Winona followed him up. She had her hand clutched tight on the railing so he made a note not to give her too much more.

"Did you drive here?" he asked, glancing back.

"Oh Lord," was all she said in response.

He poured her half as much as him and watched with a slight frown as she plopped herself down in Boyd's spot, unaware, and kicked off her high heels.

He'd seen her do that once before, when they were young, and he remembered thinking for a long time it was the sexiest thing he'd ever seen a woman do. It might still have been until he watched her set her glass down on his coffee table and tug her hair out of whatever contraption had been holding it up in a pretty twist. Now it was tumbling down in waves across her shoulders and he was staring at her.

She smiled again.

He sat down on his own side of the damn couch and they talked about nothing for a while.

She finished her drink and he poured himself another, stepping into the kitchen for a moment to get ice and a glass of water for her.

"What if I wanted another?" she asked, as he handed it to her.

"Do you?"

She shook her head and pointed a finger at him, waving it a little. "You're good to have around, Raylan."

He gave her the smile Boyd called smug.

"Oh," she said, perking up a little, sliding in closer as he sat back down. "Oh man, you'll never guess what I found in the lock-up downstairs," she looked at him slyly. "You can keep a secret, right?"

Raylan thought, very distinctly, _oh shit_ before he smiled and said, "Sure."

"There's like a box full of money down there--I think." Her eyes were practically dancing.

"You think?"

"Well, I thought about checking if it was real, but then realized that would be a colossally dumb idea--were I to get caught." She was pursing her lips together, and twisting them like she was still thinking it was a possibility.

"You're right," Raylan said, leaning closer so she'd look at him. "All that evidence down there belongs to the federal government. It's a felony to steal it. Plus you'd probably have the Treasury all over your ass if you ever spent it."

"I don't think anyone knows it's down there," she insisted, like she hadn't heard him.

He shrugged. "Then they don't know where it is and they're most likely looking for it. Even if it's only a ping on the bill numbers. They'd know if you spent it. I'm serious, honey."

She just smiled at him, warm and loose, making Raylan realize he was in real trouble here.

"You don't fancy a trip down to Costa Rica or something, Raylan?"

It wasn't until she pushed forward, up into his space, and pressed her lips to his, that he realized how near that trouble was, as well as its particular nature.

He was drunk, too. There was no denying that. So his instincts took over for a lot longer than he'd care to admit, as he pulled her closer by the waist and hair and she climbed up on him. It wasn't until both their mouths were open and on each other that his brain caught up with his actions.

He leaned away faster than he pushed her back, but they were separated enough that she'd gotten a good look at the expression on his face as she said, "Oh shit."

He was still trying to figure out what to say to her exactly as she pulled back abruptly, almost stumbling off him and then the couch stammering, "Oh my God. Oh my _God_. I read that all wrong, Raylan. I am so sorry."

He stood with her, reaching out, wanting to steady her, but she pulled back faster, grabbing for her shoes. "I'm in a committed relationship," was all he could think to say. One that he might have totally fucked up just now.

"Ugh," she said, raising her hands to her face and dropping her shoes all over again. "I _knew_ that, I swear I did. It's just..." her face was guilt ridden and extremely sincere. "You said some shit went down in Harlan and I thought--"

"Boyd was almost blown up by some thugs at the mine and we got a local girl whose daddy's probably dead staying in our house," he said, flatly.

Her jaw dropped. "That's the shit?"

"Yeah," he said, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. He understood her confusion. And he'd invited her upstairs. Jesus Christ.

He bent to pick up her shoes.

"Raylan, I have got to go home right now," she said, reaching for them. He held them behind his back.

"Honey, you really don't. This was a misunderstanding and I can't let you drive right now. I won't." He really didn't want her to be here, but she definitely couldn't go anywhere else.

"I'll go back downstairs," she offered desperately.

"You don't want to drink more." Raylan heard the exhaustion in his voice. "You'll just feel shittier. You can sleep out here. I gotta..." he trailed off walking towards his room. "I'm taking these," he said, waving the shoes in his hand.

She huffed, frowning and flopped back down on their disgraced couch. She buried her face in her hands. He went to bed.

At three in the morning he woke up to piss and set her shoes down next to her bag by the coffee table. She was sleeping, hair in disarray around her face, all curled up to one side in the dark. He could only make out the soft curves of her face, no detail.

He felt fucking terrible. But he knew he had to tell Boyd. She was gone when he woke again in the morning.

 

Boyd arrived at the Plackett mine at nine am on the dot.

He’d gotten Loretta off to school, dropping her off despite her protests that she could take the bus from down their hill. He didn’t say that he wanted to make sure that the Bennetts didn’t try to do something shifty. He just smiled sweet at her and said, “It’s no trouble, honey. Now, you got that cell phone we gave you, right? I ain’t sure what these mine people want from me today, so I’ll text you to take the bus if I can’t be back here this afternoon.”

She tightened her lips before she told him, “Okay, Boyd,” and grumbled something about making dinner for them even though he said not to. “Ain’t like I don’t know how.”

He pretended not to hear her and she was smiling as he drove away.

Boyd climbed out of the cab of his truck and walked himself past a very fine, very long, limousine, as a lovely-looking woman with striking red hair came out of the new office trailer they’d gotten up the mountain in a hurry. He put his hands in the pockets of his coat and made his way over to her. He couldn’t imagine he’d been called here for any other reason. He made sure to school his features to surprise when she said his name like they were old friends.

“Ma’am?”

“Boyd Crowder,” she said again, holding out her hand to him. “I sure am pleased to meet you. You bein’ the hero of this here mine and all. Carol Johnson, Executive Vice President for Black Pike Coal.” She was really laying it on thick.

Boyd didn’t doubt her Southern roots, but he doubted very much her sincerity.

“What can I do for you, Miss Johnson?”

“Carol,” she insisted and he just smiled. 

He knew she’d love it if he kept on with the Miss. Not out of any kind of vanity, but only because it meant he couldn’t think of her as an equal, enough to call her by her first name at least, which was far from the truth, but perfect for his purposes.

She started in, having him walk with her down to her shiny black car, looping her arm through his, on the debt the company owed Boyd, though he knew there was no way they’d ever pay him back in real money.

“So, I’m just gonna cut to the chase here, Boyd. I don’t want you burning powder for us anymore--though your work in that position is certainly vital.”

“What would you like me to do, ma’am?” He decided to lay it on thick too, just for her, though he still wasn’t quite sure where she was going with all this.

“I would very much like for you to be a part of the Black Pike Security Team.”

Boyd forced his brows to shoot up instead of furrow low. Now he was intrigued. He figured it might be best to play coy for a minute. “With all due respect, ma’am--”

“Carol, please.”

“Miss Johnson, I like working as a powder man. And anyway, I ain’t even full time here. I just started back up--”

“I know,” she said smiling. “You got your degree. That’s admirable, Boyd, and you’ve displayed just the type of high-achieving, community-minded spirit we’re looking for in Black Pike employees.”

Boyd knew for damn sure that it was not, and he was starting to get an idea of what she needed from him, specifically now that she was in Harlan. He put some feelers out. “Well, I appreciate you saying that, and I really do appreciate the vote of confidence, Miss Johnson, but I’m not sure that you’re aware of some other information about me, aside from recent events, specifically, I mean… my background and my… situation.”

“Well,” she echoed him, smiling, “I am certain I don’t know what you mean about your situation, Boyd, but I’m happy to tell you that I know all about your background and, in fact, it’s what makes me so certain you’re the man we need. Now,” she said, walking without him right up to the car, “let’s get started right away.”

Boyd stood still, knowing he was going to go with her, not willing to let her know he’d already decided.

“We’re gonna start with a bit of a road trip, okay? Do you own a suit of any sort?” He almost smiled. She really was a go-getter, not ready to take anyone’s no for an answer, certainly not a no-name, no-account former gun-thug like himself.

“I do not,” he said, scraping his boot against the gravel.

“Well, I’m sure we can stop somewhere on the way,” she said, motioning to him. “Come on now, we’re on a bit of a clock.”

He looked uncertain for a moment, spending the time wondering if he’d be able to call Raylan about all this, and walked forward.

There was one thing he was sure of, if he was going to start any kind of business in Harlan, he was going to want to know what business Black Pike was getting up to.


	5. Sill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol Johnson rolls into town and makes everything more complicated.

Raylan was having a shitty morning.

Art had taken one look at him as he walked in and said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Raylan just made a face and went to get a cup of coffee.

Winona came looking for him, walking, completely casually, past the Marshals’ offices. Raylan got up and went to meet her.

Her eyes were very serious and he suspected she was wearing more make-up than usual to hide the shadows beneath them. “Listen, Raylan, I want you to know, this really wasn’t a big deal. I’m not mad and it’s not like I’m, uh, pining for you or something. Like you said, it was a misunderstanding. So, I don’t think you really have to tell Boyd about it, right? I really like him--and you-- _together_. I swear I won’t say anything--it’s too embarrassing anyway.” 

She gave him this big smile at that, like it could be some kind of joke between them, and Raylan was sort of grateful to her for it, that she’d be so cool about it if he’d wanted to be dishonest. But he knew he couldn’t.

He shook his head and replied, “I can’t, Winona. Me and Boyd… we don’t lie to each other and we don’t keep secrets. Not anymore.”

The look on her face was one of obvious disbelief. Though she didn’t go so far as to verbally express it.

“Look, the last time I lied to Boyd when it mattered, we ended up--that _thing_ happened. The thing everyone was talking about?” He wasn’t about to say out loud that he’d been drugged by Boyd’s ex-con father and tied to a chair for 24 hours while Boyd blew up a fucking four-wheeler full of methylamine or whatever the hell it had been.

Winona’s eyes were large in her face and it looked like she might cry again. That was the last thing that Raylan wanted, but still he forced himself to tell her, “I can’t lie to him, Winona.”

She frowned and said. “It’s not a big deal,” like that was her point the whole time. “Just, tell him I’m sorry about it.”

“I will,” he said. “I’m sorry too.”

She squeezed his arm before she walked away.

Art poked his head out of the office a moment later and asked, “You done with your daily dose of drama, Givens?”

“Yes, sir, I sure do hope so,” Raylan mumbled.

“Well, Reardon wants to see you in chambers,” Art said, his eyes following Winona down the hall. “You best get on down there.”

Raylan sighed and didn’t bother asking. Art hardly ever knew more than him when it came to the judge.

He took a minute to drink some of his coffee and sort through some emails about the bank robbery Art and Tim had foiled in his absence, then went through to Reardon’s chambers. There, he was surprised again by the wincing expression on Winona’s face.

“Well lookee here who it is, Raylan Givens,” the judge shouted, standing imperiously behind his desk, Winona at his side at the typewriter. “U.S. Marshal Raylan here saved my sorry ass not too long ago from a man intent on killing me.” He swung his hand over the heads of two men in expensive suits who both looked a bit constipated and a lot annoyed about something. “These two are the counsel on the Flyrock case.” 

Raylan had little to no idea what Flyrock was all about. Something to do with a mine and a death, whether it was an accident or not. In Raylan’s experience, the mining companies’ favorite word to put in front of “death” was “accidental.”

Next Reardon pointed over to Winona. Her hair straighter than usual and her eyes tired and bruised-looking from the hangover she most certainly had acquired. “I know you know this little lady here.” Reardon spoke to the counsel now, “Deputy Givens and Winona here used to date in another life,” he said with this weird half-smile like he was going to matchmake them or something, when he knew very well Raylan had Boyd. Everyone knew.

“What in the world is it about that boyfriend of yours could beat out this beautiful creature for your affections?” Reardon asked.

Winona reached her fingers up to cover her mouth. She looked mortified.

Raylan took a slow breath and and step back emotionally. He did not have the energy or the wherewithal to get in a fight with Reardon over his personal life. It made no goddamn sense to him why the man found it so fucking fascinating. He said carefully, “I guess you’ll just have to meet him, someday, Judge. Now what was it you needed me for?”

Reardon nodded, thankfully back on track, and said, “Court security already checked the courtroom, but they’re a bunch of geezers, so I’d rather you look into it.”

Raylan had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “They’re all retired Marshals, J--”

“Tensions are running high with this case, Deputy, and I don’t know if I set my gavel down I won’t set off some kind incendiary device. Will you double check it for me?”

“I’ll do it right now,” Raylan said through a tight smile. Winona’s eyes were down at her lap. He needed not to look at her anymore. Jesus, he felt like utter shit about last night. As he turned and walked from the room, he told himself again he had to come clean. The urge to hide it, the thought that it wasn’t a big deal, not to her, not to him, wouldn’t leave him alone. But he knew that was just cowardice and if he didn’t want Boyd to his things from him--like how the mine really was for him now--then he shouldn’t hide this stupid, horrible bullshit either.

His mind now settled, he walked into the courtroom and had to do a double take as he saw Boyd, sitting with his hands folded in his lap on the near side of the center row of benches in the gallery. Raylan thought for a moment he’d been thinking so hard on Boyd he’d conjured up his image somehow. Maybe he was more hungover that morning than the slight ache in his head had indicated.

But no, Boyd’s lips quirked for a split second, before he schooled his features carefully neutral as their eyes met across the room.

“Boyd,” Raylan said, slowing his walk, feeling his heart speed up. 

“Raylan,” Boyd returned, like the old, old days, like they barely knew each other.

He was wearing a suit, a cheap one, but a suit it was. And he was sitting with his hands folded in front of his lap. Raylan now felt like he’d walked into some kind of alternate universe rather than a dream.

“What are you doing here?” He tried not to make it sound like Boyd was entirely unwelcome, and wasn’t sure how well he succeeded.

A woman came walking up then from the back of the room, talking about an “us” that apparently included her and Boyd, and where someone she referred to as “they” were going to put them, in preparation for the trial because the plaintiff’s family was in the hall.

Raylan was still reeling from the “us” thing as Boyd introduced the woman as, “Miss Carol Johnson,” who, “works for Black Pike, the defendant in the civil case before the court this morning.” Boyd subsequently introduced Raylan by his formal title and she told him in response that it “was a pleasure.”

Raylan thought he saw that slight quirk at the side of Boyd’s mouth and he felt almost immediately better. Though he asked, very specifically, and with emphasis, “Boyd, what are _you_ doing here?”

The lovely Miss Johnson answered immediately, slightly miffed, “Boyd is part of my security team.”

Raylan almost laughed. “Security?”

Neither said anything to that, so Raylan nodded and double checked that she knew the Marshals were posted specifically in the courthouse to provide cases like hers with security. But she just smiled at him and said she’d prefer one of her own to have her back.

Raylan raised his brows at Boyd, who gave him a look of utter sincerity and integrity, then he went to work looking for Reardon’s “incendiary devices.”

He wasn’t surprised when Boyd stood, strangely hesitantly, and walked over to the judge’s bench, calling his name softly.

“Now,” he said, still maintaining less of a familiarity than Raylan was used to, “I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to do your job, Raylan. But I’d be glad to help you out a little here, show you where someone might hide some kind of explosives.”

“‘Cause you’re the powderman,” Raylan said, testing.

“That is what I am, Raylan,” Boyd affirmed.

“And a hero,” he added.

“So they’re telling me,” Boyd replied.

“You’re wearing a suit,” Raylan said.

Boyd smiled. “I am.”

“You never wear a suit.” Literally, Raylan had never seen Boyd wear a suit. Not like that, with a jacket and a tie and the shirt. The furthest he had ever gone was the dark vest and almost matching pants he’d worn to Arlo’s funeral and his community college graduation. “You don’t own one.”

Boyd’s smile stretched wide and he said, “Ms. Johnson footed the bill on today’s sartorial choices.” He glanced over at the woman, who was quietly pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Do you think she likes it?” Boyd asked conspiratorially. 

Raylan wanted to push him but Reardon’s bench was in the way. He wanted to do a couple other things, too. Instead, he looked Boyd right in the eyes and made no attempt to hide what he was thinking. 

Boyd took a loud indrawn breath in response and said quietly, almost pleading, “Now, don’t do that to me, baby, I got _things_ to do today.”

Raylan’s lips crooked a bit. “Bet you Reardon would give us his chambers. He owes me.”

“I am sorely tempted, Raylan, but I am trying to maintain a bit of professionalism, here.”

Raylan scoffed at him and Boyd winked and turned away, saying, “It looks as though my good marshal needs no assistance at this juncture, Ms. Johnson.”

She smiled, knowingly, and replied, “Well I am sure glad you spent all that time discussin’ his _needs_ , Boyd. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Raylan didn’t like the way the woman said Boyd’s name, like he was some lost puppy or her footman for the day. But he could tell Boyd loved it because he knew he’d pulled the wool over her eyes. She didn’t see him as a dangerous man, as a rival, or an enemy. He was working for her, or so she thought.

Still, her tone put a frown on Raylan’s face and he saw her notice it.

“So, you boys knew each other growin’ up, didn’t you?” 

“We did,” Boyd answered, as Raylan stood, his search concluded. “Until we were nineteen and Raylan went off to college and the Marshals while I went to Kuwait.”

Raylan’s eyes flashed to his, but he couldn’t read Boyd at that moment and felt distinctly uncomfortable about it.

“And how long was it before you two,” she didn't hesitate much, but it was enough to let a wicked smile play across her lips, “hooked up again? I mean, before you started living in his house and people realized you were lovers?”

Raylan did laugh this time. “Oh, she caught us, darlin’.”

She huffed, looking at Boyd. “You really thought I didn’t know?”

Boyd shrugged. “You did say you didn’t know about my situation.” He paused and put on a more innocent face. “I just didn’t know what your reaction would be, Miss Johnson. Not everybody likes to hear about… such personal details of a man’s life.”

“You’re a diplomatic man, Boyd Crowder,” she said, beaming. “Couching a great love story such as your own with the marshal as just some unnecessary _details_. That’s why I know I want you on my team.”

Raylan said nothing until she turned back to him.

“Well, what do you think, Marshal? Can I trust Boyd to have my back?”

Raylan smiled softly and let his eyes linger on Boyd before he met hers unflinchingly. “All I know is, I can trust him to have _mine_ , Ms. Johnson. Anybody else, I can’t really say for sure. You understand.”

“You know,” she said, “I don’t actually. Why is it you think nobody else can trust him?”

He grinned now and he looked over at Boyd, who was valiantly maintaining a look of complete innocence. “Like you said,” he replied. “It’s a love story. Us against the world, right darlin’?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, baby,” Boyd said softly.

Her brows drew down on her smooth forehead and her eyes grew sharper. “Well, I think I’ll keep him on anyway. His general unpredictability--save with you--aside.”

Raylan huffed a laugh and turned away. “Your funeral.” He waved over his shoulder, wishing he could see Boyd’s face as he strolled out of the room, calling, “Darlin’, I do like that suit.”

 

Boyd sat in the gallery behind Ms. Johnson as the case proceeded. 

He’d never seen Judge Reardon in the flesh before and the man seemed to him to be some kind of force of nature, all bluster and ruddy cheeks, waving his piece around as though he hadn’t completely embarrassed himself with it in that case a few years ago. Right before Raylan got the place above the bar and Boyd had moved in for school.

He smiled to himself, thinking he might just owe the judge just a bit, seeing as it was that adventure that had set him and his boy on the course they were on now. Boyd liked the way things were, if only all this dangerous shit wouldn’t stop springing in their path like so many snakes in the grass.

Boyd turned his eyes to Winona as the counselors began their arguments.

She looked intent, and much more serious than the time he’d seen her previously. At that time, she was all embarrassed smiles and dazzling eyes. Today, she looked pale, as though she had lost some of the life that was in her. Or maybe she was just sick. She did look a little green around the gills.

He saw her eye wander for a moment, so he smiled at her, and held up his fingers in a little wave. Somehow, she looked even more ill in response.

When Reardon disallowed the video of Peener dying in that holler, Boyd knew something was about to go down. His skin shivered in that way it used to when the ceiling rumbled, when Raylan’s eyes would flash when they were young and scared.

The guards took Penner Junior out of the court and Reardon banged the gavel, but Boyd was still tense. Carol Johnson gave him a look from her seat at the defendant’s table, but he shook his head. At present it seemed there was nothing to fear. And then the alarm began to sound.

The judge was pissed and everyone was shouting to get out of the building, something about a bomb threat. The alarm was loud in Boyd’s ears as he pushed Carol towards the exit to the courtroom, right behind Reardon. Raylan was waiting for them in the hall, looking pensively at the man who was ordering them outside.

“Come on then,” Reardon roared over the cacophony. “It’s probably bullshit, but let’s get this goddamn over with so we can get on with our day.”

But Raylan was looking off down the hallway, and Boyd wouldn’t move until he did. Carol Johnson tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “What?” she said near his ear. 

Reardon wouldn’t shut up. “Andale, Deputy, what--”

Raylan cut the judge off mid sentence, holding up his point-making finger imperiously. Boyd would have smiled if he hadn’t been so fearful. “Hold up,” Raylan said.

One of the guards started to argue, but Raylan shook his head decisively. “No,” he said, “not the judge, not Ms. Johnson, not anyone on this case.” He shot a charged look in Boyd’s direction. Boyd moved toward him on instinct.

Art came up behind them and said, “What’s going on, Raylan?”

“Behind these doors, nobody’s got a weapon. But out there,” he said, tilting his head, “who knows?”

The marshals exchanged fast, clipped words about when the bomb threat was called in, how soon it had been since the plaintiffs left the court, and Boyd sucked in a breath. Goddamn, his boy was a smart one.

The revelation didn’t do anything to ease the tension in Boyd’s chest however, as Raylan shot him yet another look, this one of apology, and perhaps something darker, like guilt or shame, and turned to walk out of the building, into whatever fire was lined up for him.

During and after all the confusion and shouting and intense looks from men carrying weapons, Boyd and Ms. Johnson were collected with a handful of others inside the Marshals' offices. Someone got them coffee and Boyd, resolutely setting his worries for Raylan aside, made sure to be attentive to his new employer, handing her a cup himself.

When they got word it was all over, she threw him a grateful look and he tilted his head at her, in slight deference. They watched the bustle of the office, now that the excitement was over, and it was easy to see about half the eyes in the office were attempting not to stare at them.

He really loved law enforcement people. They always knew when something was up.

"What with all the looks?" she asked him quietly.

He smiled, but cast his eyes down. "Some things happened a couple years ago, between my family and people from Harlan. Raylan was involved as a marshal..." He was testing again.

"Oh, was that when the Sheriff was after you both, and then when your father tied him up in that cabin?"

She had done her homework. He nodded.

"So, I guess you don't come by here much these days," she cast a dark look around, like she was on his side somehow, against whatever gossip her mind was cooking up.

Truly, Boyd was here all the time. Or he had been when he was living with Raylan in Lexington. He liked everybody in the office--those he knew anyway. He saw some new faces, people he hadn't been introduced to since he started back at the mine, and he was sorry he'd have to play it cool as long as he was going along with this woman and whatever the hell she wanted from him--or Raylan.

Boyd looked up to the door just in time for Raylan to charge in, walking fast and looking like something was riding him hard.

Boyd had thought something might be up when they'd seen each other in the courtroom that morning, but he'd chalked most of Raylan's strange, awkward behavior, to him being thrown by Boyd's presence and by Miss Johnson.

Raylan's eyes landed right on him though and were so hard, and almost afraid somehow, that Boyd stood before he even raised a hand to point and say, "Boyd, I need to talk to you."

"All right, Raylan," he said softly and followed him into the locker room.

"Baby, before you say anything," Boyd started immediately after Raylan lowered his hand after checking that there was no one else in the room. "I'm just with her until I know what the hell she wants. Black Pike's making a big move here or they wouldn't have no Executive--" he broke off there because he realized the look on Raylan's face wasn't the one he'd been expecting.

There was no small, angry frown, marring the even line of his mouth. His brows were furrowed, but more in the way they got when he was worried about something, or when he was upset and trying to hide it.

"Raylan, what is the matter?" he asked.

He could see the rise and fall of Raylan's chest. He was breathing faster than normal, deeper too. "I..." he looked alarmingly like he was about to cry, so Boyd took a step forward, reaching out, but Raylan shied away from him immediately, forcing words out of his mouth, "So, I went back to Lexington last night. Got in and there was a band playing."

Boyd's brows shot up. "Yeah. You told me that in your text."

"Winona showed up," Raylan said, as though each word was a nail he had to hammer into a coffin. 

Boyd could feel himself staring. He could feel too, a curdling in his stomach, something slow, but not terrible yet. He knew he had to wait for the rest of Raylan's words.

"She was there for the band. Didn't even know I--we live there. We had some drinks. I-I didn't think about it. I was sad you weren't there. She was talking about some ex she can't get rid of--"

"She need some help?" Boyd asked, genuinely concerned.

Raylan laughed like it was ripped out of him, short and harsh. Boyd's eyes widened.

"I invited her up. Gave her another drink and..."

The silence seemed endless. "Raylan, you've got to tell me."

"I know," Raylan hissed like he'd just sustained a wound. He looked Boyd in the eyes and he looked so profoundly sorry, Boyd almost forgave him everything before he even laid out his confession.

"I kissed her," he said, like he was ripping off a bandage. "Well, she--" He shook his head, unwilling to place blame.

"Is that all?"

Raylan threw him a hard look, like he could barely believe Boyd thought he'd have done anything else. " _Yes_ ," he said. "It was… a misunderstanding. She thought from what I said we were fighting and she… she was really pretty drunk." He shook his head again and rubbed at the back of his neck. Boyd knew he thought he shouldn't have said that. He thought it sounded like an excuse.

"So she kissed you."

"I was there," Raylan shot back, angry. "I-I kissed her back, but only for like a second--Jesus, are you laughing?"

Boyd was. He was grinning and laughing and something warm was replacing that curdling in his belly, filling up into his chest.

"Raylan," he tried. "You--" He was being so cute, so surprisingly, unflinchingly sincere. It was amazing and wonderful and all the things Boyd knew Raylan could be. And he couldn't stop laughing, he was so happy about it.

"I am really upset here, darlin'," Raylan said, clearly confused. "Why in the world are you laughing?"

"Raylan, do you want me to be mad at you?"

Raylan looked like he was at an utter loss, so baffled he was just shaking his head from side to side.

"You think you did something wrong here?"

"I… I asked her up. I knew she was--"

Boyd shook his head, decisively, putting an end to that bullshit. "That's stupid, Raylan. She's got a mind of her own, doesn't she? You didn't make her do one thing."

"I made her stay on the couch," Raylan protested. "She was too drunk to drive home."

"Well, I'm glad, baby," Boyd beamed. He was so good.

"But--"

Boyd took a step forward now and Raylan let him get his hands up on his tense shoulders. "Raylan, I been talking about us fucking her for months now, you think I didn't see this coming? Hell, I'm surprised you didn't go look her up by now, put it all out on the table. You think I'm not okay with this? It was my idea."

Raylan tilted his head forward, pressing his forehead to Boyd's. "But you weren't there," he said quietly. "I don't want it without you."

Boyd kissed him, fast and hard, pulling him close. "Baby, you have made my week," he said. "Maybe my goddamn year. Lord Almighty, can we go right here, right now?"

"Oh, Jesus, please don't," the dulcet, dry tones of Tim Gutterson's voice echoed out from the shower stalls. "Just-just let me get dressed."

Boyd and Raylan collapsed against each other in surprise, Boyd pushing Raylan up against the wall behind them. Boyd was laughing again, stifling it sharply into snorts and heavy breathing and Raylan was groaning with embarrassment.

"Oh my God," Gutterson cried. "I told you not to."

They leaned away as he sped out of the room. Pausing only to say derisively, "Ugh, I know way too much about you guys now. Jesus Christ."

Raylan was still laughing when Boyd pulled away. “Aw,” he said, “but now we got the place to ourselves.”

Boyd’s smiled faded. He touched the side of Raylan’s face, sliding two fingers into the hair graying at his temple. “I love you so much, baby. And I want you badly right now. But I’ve got to go babysit that mine woman.”

Raylan frowned at him. “Why you got to do that, darlin’?”

Boyd kissed him. “I can’t talk about it now. She’s waiting on me.”

Raylan’s frown deepened. 

Boyd said, “I ain’t gonna lie to you, baby, just please trust me right now. I promise, when I know everything. I will tell you everything.”

Raylan took a breath and Boyd fucking loved him. “All right.”

He knew that Raylan probably said that because he felt he owed Boyd something, for whatever guilt he thought he needed to carry around about the previous night. But he let him have it and said nothing else except, “I’ll see you at home.”

 

Raylan was headed out the door for the night when Tim approached him, still looking slightly perturbed.

“You owe me a drink for that, Raylan,” he said seriously as they walked out together.

“You’ll have to come to my place to get it,” Raylan grumbled.

“Fine. I’ll meet you there.” Tim gave him a sympathetic look then and added, “I’m glad you guys are okay.”

Raylan glanced at him, surprised.

“What? You’re like an institution around here--”

“You only been here three years, son,” Raylan interjected.

Tim shrugged. “You give some people hope. Especially after all the shit you’ve been through.”

Raylan frowned, thinking about how many people might be seriously invested in his relationship with Boyd. It was sort of weird. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, stay tuned. I don’t think the shit’s over yet.”

They’d reached their cars. “You mean Boyd working with that Black Pike woman?” Tim asked.

“That and some other things I don’t care to tell you,” Raylan said.

Tim smirked. “You’re a real asshole, Raylan. I’ll see you at the bar.”

Tim and Raylan got some drinks and later some food and they chatted about things that weren’t the Marshals’ office or Harlan or the Army, which was something Raylan hadn’t realized they were capable of.

Tim was telling him about a movie someone he’d been seeing said he “absolutely had to watch,” which was a period piece thing about English people travelling abroad and having affairs. It took them a few minutes to figure out it wasn’t the movie Boyd had made him go see in the theater because it was based on a book by his favorite author.

“No, this was the one with the guy from Fight Club. And the actress who made out with the brunette in that David Lynch movie from a few years ago. They were in China,” Raylan said. “They were very unhappy and then they weren’t and then he died. I was pretty upset about it actually.”

Tim shook his head. “Oh, then that’s not this one. This one was Italy and the girl from Fight Club. It’s older too, like the 80s.”

“Oh, the one I’m talking about just came out like a year ago.”

“Well, have you seen There Will Be Blood? Now, that’s a great period movie,” he said smirking into his beer. “I think it’s right up your alley, man.”

“I’ll put it on my list,” Raylan told him.

Tim left maybe a half hour later saying, “Work tomorrow, Raylan.”

Raylan nodded and ordered another bourbon after he left. Maybe two hours and a few drinks later, Lindsey, who had been giving him worried looks she thought he couldn’t see all evening, handed him the phone.

“Givens,” he said, thinking it was work.

“Baby, go to bed,” Boyd’s voice came tiredly over the phone. “I know today was weird. Yesterday was weird too and I can only assume tomorrow will be as well. I miss you too, Raylan, and I’m sorry.”

“It ain’t your fault, Boyd,” Raylan said.

“It feels like it is when Lindsey’s calling me at 1:30, saying you’re on drink five and staring off into space, all right?”

“Aw, shit, is it that late?” Raylan groaned. “I’m sorry she woke you, I--”

“Raylan, just go on up and go to sleep. Ms. Johnson said she was gonna request your services, and I can’t see Art saying no to her about it, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Request me for what?”

“Protection,” Boyd answered, and Raylan heard him shifting in the bed.

“Isn’t that what you’re there for?” Raylan drained his glass.

Boyd huffed a laugh into the phone. “Naw, she wants me to take care of some other stuff for her.”

Raylan frowned. “What kind of stuff?”

“Raylan, _I_ was sleeping. I promise I’ll tell you tomorrow, okay?”

Raylan shook his head, sorry, but feeling like another apology from either of them would just be silly at that point. “Right, right. G’night, darlin’.”

“Night. Love you.”

Raylan handed the phone back to Lindsey and said, “Pour me another and I’ll tell Bill I asked you to make that long distance call.”

She scowled at him. “Are you serious?”

“I swear I’m going to bed, don’t worry about that,” he said, raising his hands.

She poured him half his usual and he twisted his mouth at her disappointedly. He took it as a shot, just out of spite, and stumbled upstairs and directly into his bed.

He regretted that decision immensely the next morning when Art called him at six-thirty with the old news that Raylan was to travel to Harlan that day with Carol Johnson, the woman from Black Pike Coal. The new information was that Miss Johnson was staying in a hotel not far from the courthouse and that she expected Raylan there in the next half hour.

“Thanks for the long head start, Art,” Raylan grumbled, his head pounding and his stomach churning with nausea.

“You’re welcome. And try to stay out of trouble,” Art returned. “I’m letting you go, because she asked very specifically for you and because I know you have reasons you want to be there, despite my reservations about other… situations down there.”

“So am I to consider this a favor?” Raylan asked as he laid out his clothes.

“More like an apology,” Art replied, albeit a little reluctantly. “It’s been a while since you’ve given me a reason to mistrust your judgement or your professionalism, Raylan. And the last time there were some pretty extenuating circumstances. Just, like I said before, keep out of trouble, and by that I mean--”

“Stay away from the Bennetts,” Raylan finished for him. “They’re the last people I wanna see right now, all right, Art? You got nothing to worry about on my end.”

“Well, if their end pushes, just walk the hell away and you tell me if you need help, _before_ you need help.”

“Yes, sir,” Raylan said, then added, “Shit, Art, you don’t let me get in the shower, I’m gonna be late.”

“Not my problem,” Art said before he disconnected.

 

Boyd took a breath to calm himself as he pulled over onto the side of the road, police lights at his rear, Bennett Sheriff’s Department lights to be exact. He thought about Dickie and Coover and whatever the hell they had in that bag at Reggie’s property the previous night.

Shit.

The last thing Boyd wanted was to tangle any further with these people, but he couldn’t back out now. He knew what Carol Johnson was after. She’d taken him that far into her confidence, but not so far that he knew _why_ she needed any of that land. Sure, the mountaintop was a given, they had that already, it was these pockets and strips of land up the mountain that didn’t make any sense to him, owned by all sorts of people, Raylan included.

Goddammit.

Nicky, Doyle’s deputy strolled up to his truck. The window was rolled down so they just stared at each other until the man said, “I’m gonna need your license and registration, Boyd.”

Boyd reached for it. “What seems to be the problem here, Officer?” He asked calmly, handing it over.

“It’s Deputy, son.”

Boyd glared, wishing he’d just called the asshole by his first name instead of trying to be polite. “My apologies.”

“You know you got a busted tail light, here, Boyd?”

Boyd was about to say he had no such thing, when he saw the other officer come up with some kind of pipe in his hand in the rearview mirror. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, boy--” Boyd jerked his eyes to Nicky and his lip curled when he heard the shattering of the glass.

“Doyle send you boys out to find me?” Boyd asked.

Nicky ignored him. “Can’t be driving around like that,” Nicky said. “And seeing as both your license and registration is expired.” Boyd’s eyes flashed at the blatant lie, but Nicky went right on. “We’re gonna have to take you in.”

Forty-five minutes later, inside the holding cell, Doyle was staring at him smugly. Boyd had just made his phone call to Ms. Johnson and he was feeling a little out of sorts on account he couldn’t call Raylan directly. He hated having to spring this on him. 

Raylan’s muffled, “He’s _where_?” and “Why the hell did he call _you_?” were still echoing in his head and he just wished Doyle would leave him the hell alone.

“What do you think your boyfriend would say about you whoring out for the mining company, Boyd?” Doyle finally asked.

“You can ask him yourself, Doyle. He’s gonna be here in under an hour.”

“Gotta get him to bail you out?”

“No, my employer is going to bail me out on your trumped up charges. Raylan is with her on the U.S. Government's order. For her protection.”

“Your employer’s pretty good at pissing people off, Boyd. I hear she’s a pretty little spitfire. But I suppose you wouldn’t notice such a thing.”

Boyd wasn’t about to go into the specifics of his sexuality with this asshole, so he just glared at him coolly and asked, “What the hell do you want, Doyle?”

“My mama wants Loretta back.”

Boyd set his jaw. “So go have your deputies pick her up like you did me.” He paused to smile. “That’s right. You can’t. Because you still can’t have nobody asking where it is that girl’s daddy went and just what the hell it is Mags needs her for, can you?”

Doyle rammed his billy club up against the bars and Boyd blinked, but didn’t jump. He walked out, muttering about other shit to take care of.

It wasn’t long before they pulled Boyd out of the cell. When they brought him out, his eyes fell on Carol first, who looked more annoyed than anything, with most of her ire aimed straight at Doyle. Then he looked to Raylan who was hunched over against the wall near the door, jutting his jaw and looking like complete shit. Boyd realized he must be hungover from the night before.

He cast Raylan a concerned and questioning glare and Raylan, when he finally did lift his eyes, threw him the same right back. 

Ms. Johnson was throwing a fit over police corruption and Doyle was giving the same, but Boyd just silently signed the paperwork they put in front of him--this wasn’t his first rodeo--and asked, “Is that all?” when the booking woman took the last one away. He wanted to get over to Raylan.

“No, it ain’t,” Doyle said. “Raylan, what do you think of this one and his new job? He wouldn’t tell me when I had him in the back.”

Raylan looked up at Doyle with enough ice in his stare to make Boyd think he was contemplating pulling on him. “That’s cuz he don’t know,” Raylan said, speaking slowly, with something only Boyd could identify as pain in his voice. To anyone else it probably just sounded terrifying. “We haven’t talked about it.”

“Too busy puttin’ each other’s cock in your mouth?” Nicky drawled from the bullpen.

Something lurched then sunk low in Boyd’s stomach. “Jesus, Nicky,” he swore out of pure surprise. They didn’t even say shit like that to him at the mine anymore. He suddenly felt a lot less sure-footed.

“That’s Deputy to you, boy,” Doyle said, a hard-lined frown on his face. Boyd’s lip curled again. 

That was twice in one day from these idiots. No one ever called him that before all of it came out between him and Raylan, even when he was an actual boy, even when he’d quit the Commandoes and kept his head down. No one would have dared. And it wasn’t just because of the Crowder name.

Boyd knew it shouldn’t have mattered, but it was still hard to swallow, still stuck like a barb in his throat.

Ms. Johnson, whirled on Doyle then. “ _Excuse me_?” she cried roughly. “Just what in God’s name kind of show are you running here, Doyle Bennett. You’re gonna let your deputy talk to my employee and a goddamn U.S. Marshal like that? I swear to Christ I’ll bring a discrimination suit down on you so fast, motherfucker, it’ll--” 

“Now, now,” Raylan broke in, stepping forward slowly. There was a laziness to his expression, poured unevenly over his anger, that made him seem a little crazed. “There ain’t no sense talkin’ like that, Carol,” he said, his eyes stuck on Doyle. “This is just the way things are for me an’ Boyd. How they’re always gonna be down here because assholes like these, and like the ones who thought they could blow up the mine, and like my daddy and his daddy--" He motioned at Boyd. "They ain't never gonna learn or change. Hate's bred in the bones here in Harlan. Me an' Doyle know better than anybody. A lawsuit ain't gonna change that any more than a bullet will."

"Baby," Boyd said, somehow at a loss.

But Raylan just shook his head at him shortly and said as he turned away, "I'll be in the car." He turned back a moment later and pointed his finger at Doyle's deputy. "Nicky Mooney, you quit bein' an asshole. Boyd cuts your mama's grass sometimes. Seems she's got a son who can't be bothered."

Boyd wanted to follow Raylan right away, but Ms. Johnson caught up with him by the door. He put an earnest look on his face as he said, "Ma'am, I am so sorry about all this."

She smiled at him. "Come on now, you think I didn't know what I was getting into when I came down here today? Or when I hired you--with all your baggage to boot? Now, who did you get to sign?"

She was having him go from property to property, from when they got back to Harlan the previous day to dawn and all through the morning, with a short break to sleep. His task was to get his neighbors to sign onto the Black Pike deal, thereby selling their land for not an insignificant amount of money to make way for the mountaintop removal. It had been, while not an easy process, especially with Dickie and Coover dogging him around with their bag of unknown terror, something Boyd had not found beyond his particularly well-honed talents for persuasion.

"I got all of them," he told her. "Except Raylan." She'd wanted him to wait until Raylan came back down to Harlan to talk to him about the entire business. She'd been adamant about that, so Boyd couldn't see a way around it.

He was feeling apprehensive about that actually, because he knew Raylan--especially with how hungover and pissed off he seemed this morning--was not going to be happy about any of it, the secret-keeping or the fact that Carol Johnson and Black Pike wanted his land.

“Great,” she beamed. “That’s great, Boyd. Now, I’m gonna go get your car out of hock.” Boyd was already backing towards the door. “Don’t you spill it to him yet,” she warned. He made his face look as innocent as possible. The chore was going to get tired fast. “I want him primed and I want him in his house, all right?”

Boyd didn’t bother to tell her the house was more Boyd’s than it was Raylan’s, for all the work he’d done on it over the years. He tamped down on that thought anyway. The property itself was, always had been, and would always be Raylan’s. 

“Of course,” he murmured.

“Good boy,” she said, walking away.

 _Jesus_.

Raylan was in the front seat of the car, his hat drawn down over his eyes, his mouth drawn farther down into a grimace of pain. It might have been gratifying to make fun of him a little for the late night call Boyd had endured in the early hours yesterday, but he knew Raylan wasn’t in a mood to welcome it and he really needed his boy on his side right now.

Boyd leaned into the open window and brought a soothing palm to Raylan’s cheek.

“What the hell is she after?” Raylan grumbled at him, rousing at the touch.

“She doesn’t want me to tell you just now,” Boyd said.

Raylan squinted his eyes open and shot an incredulous glare at Boyd. “And you’re gonna just listen to her? About that? Just what is going on with this woman, Boyd?”

“Something big. I need you to play along on this, baby. Please, Raylan. Just trust me. ”

Raylan turned away, closing his eyes again. “Fine,” he growled. Boyd knew he wasn’t, at all.

“Raylan--” Boyd started to try again, but he cut himself off as Ms. Johnson came out of the building behind him.

“All right. We’re set,” she said, seeking eye contact with Boyd, presumably so she could give him some more orders, as if he were a dog, who’d only listen if she had his undivided attention. “Raylan and I are gonna make a stop, but then I want to see you at your house,” she glanced down into the car at Raylan, who Boyd knew was paying very close attention, “then we can have our chat. All together.”

“Sure thing, Ms Johnson,” Boyd said softly. He wanted to say goodbye to Raylan. To give him a kiss or a touch on the shoulder, the cheek, anything. But he just turned down the drive to the impound lot.

“We’ll see you in an hour,” she called after him and he gave her a smile, waving them off.

Raylan’s eyes were open and his expression was dark. Boyd’s stomach churned uneasily. He really needed to get a better grip on what this woman was up to.

 

Carol Johnson wanted to go talk to the Bennetts.

Raylan suppressed a groan. It was just what he needed today. But he couldn’t say no, without going through the whole thing with Loretta, and even then, he wouldn’t put it past this woman to just go right on ahead anyway. With or without Raylan.

“Do you know these people?” she asked as they pulled up to the general store. 

“I’ve heard of them,” Raylan deadpanned, then added, deciding for safety’s sake he should probably be a little more honest, “We have a little history.”

“Far back?” she asked distantly, barely engaged. Probably too busy figuring what she was going to say when she finally got Mags in her sights.

Raylan nodded, sliding his hand nearer to his sidearm, forcing himself to ignore the pounding of his head. “And recent.” He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask anything else.

Carol was all smiles for Mags. She held out her hand, introducing herself and Mags responded with some kind of backhanded compliment Raylan didn’t catch as he scoped out the entrances.

“I’m surprised to see you here with her, Raylan,” Mags said. Her expression was neutral, but her eyes were hard and angry. 

Raylan did not engage with that anger. He kept his voice light. “Marshal service duty. There have been some threats.” 

Mags raised her brows, but didn’t say anything else as Dickie and Coover joined the party.

“Miss Johnson, these are my sons, Dickie and Coover,” she said real sweet and Raylan almost laughed as Carol tried to recover from the creepiest “hey” she may have ever received in her life coming out of Coover Bennett’s greasy mouth. 

Dickie said hello too, but his eyes were all over Raylan as he began to wander around the store in a vaguely threatening way, making weird mumbling noises. Raylan tuned out Carol’s conversation with Mags, watching him. He almost said something when Dickie brought out the goddamn aluminum bat and started doing some kind of sword fight jig with it. 

He refrained, because he was a goddamn professional, and they were about to leave as Carol was unable to get whatever the hell she wanted from Mags until after the meeting that was being set up, when Coover stepped up to Raylan. He just knew the boy was itching for a fight with him and he was so beyond finished with this bullshit, more so even, when Coover laid his dirty sausage fingers on Raylan’s jacket. 

“You whoring for the mining company too now? Like your cocksucking boyfriend?” the boy asked, smirking. 

Raylan closed his eyes slowly, pushing down the flash of anger he felt at the insult Coover perceived he was throwing Raylan’s way--never mind that it was the truth. “Coover, you touch me again, we’re gonna have a problem.” 

Raylan didn’t really feel like there was much of a decision to be made when Dickie heavily insinuated Raylan would use his influence as a Marshal unduly. He thought, for only a moment, that Boyd was going to be seriously pissed at him--though it wasn’t as though the opposite was already happening--as he took off his badge and slipped it into his pocket. He set his gun down on an empty shelf.

And he got the shit kicked out of him.

He didn’t know what he was expecting. He did get some good shots in, but Coover was twice his size and he was already handicapped by the goddamn hangover. It was Mags that put a stop to it and Raylan didn’t look at her as he limped to the car, every bone in his body aching and bruised.

Carol pressed a used kleenex to his bloodied nose and tsked at him, but he didn’t listen to any of the shit she had to say. His head hurt too much for that. He asked, “I gather you already know where my fucking house is, huh?”

She drove him there.

Boyd was out of the house like a shot as soon as Carol helped him from the car.

“Jesus motherfucking Christ, Raylan,” his boy hissed loudly, coming up on them fast, hands everywhere. “What the fuck happened?”

Raylan chanced a smile at him, forgetting Carol entirely. There he was, his Boyd, not her retreiver. “Coover Bennett,” he said simply.

“You’re an idiot. What in the world did you think you were gonna do--”

“Think I can lie down for a minute, darlin’?” Raylan asked, pushing away from Carol and into Boyd’s supporting arms.

Boyd’s eyes slid to Carol and Raylan closed his. There he went again. What the hell was going on with this shit?

“I want to talk to you alone,” he said softly, turning his lips to Boyd’s ear so she couldn’t hear.

Boyd looked over his shoulder at Carol. “I’m gonna take him upstairs, Ms. Johnson,” he said to her. 

“I’ll just make myself at home,” her sweet-as-pie voice came from behind him. “Take your time cleaning him up.”

He really hated this woman.

Raylan found he could walk pretty steadily now, so Boyd let him go up the stairs by himself, following closely and turning off the lights in the room after he laid down on the bed.

Boyd went into the the bathroom and got a warm, wet washcloth. “We can’t keep her waiting too long, baby. She’s got shit to do,” he said softly, dabbing the cloth across the cut at Raylan’s brow and lip. His nose stopped bleeding. “I should get you some ice,” he murmured, running his hand through Raylan’s hair, the way he liked it when his head was hurting.

“The hell we can’t keep her waiting” Raylan growled. “She wants something from me. Not just the Marshal shit.” He could tell. He thought maybe he should call Art and tell him this whole assignment was a bad idea, and not just because of the hangover, or the tussle.

“She does,” Boyd replied.

“You want me to give it to her?”

Boyd’s expression was so serious, Raylan was starting to really get worried. “No. I want you to stall. I want you to get pissed, at her and at me.”

Raylan squinted at him, then turned back to plant his face in the pillow. “Fuck,” he growled. He was not up for this. “I’m already pretty pissed at you, darlin’,” he said honestly.

“Well, you’ve certainly got the right.” There was real sympathy in Boyd’s voice as well as a sigh and Raylan wasn’t sure which one he wanted to be mad at more. “Raylan,” he said, rubbing at his back, “We can’t give her what she wants. But I have to figure out why she wants it. I’m sorry, but--”

Raylan sat up suddenly, feeling a rush of pain throughout his skull. He clutched at his head as he said, "Dammit, with the fucking hangover and now Coover beating on my head I can barely see straight. No way any emotion coming from me is gonna be believably manufactured, so just--don’t say anything else. We'll just have to do it straight and deal with the fallout later, all right?"

"Well, I guess I better not tell you any of this ‘til she does her little song and dance for you then.”

“And I'm to believe you're going along with it?" 

"Yes." 

"All right then," he said and paused. Shit, his lip really hurt. "I'm gonna be pretty mad, huh?" 

"I think so, Raylan." 

"Okay, then." He looked at Boyd and he wondered how tired and sad he seemed to him. He was feeling a lot of both. He really didn’t want to do this. “I only hit Coover because they were calling me a coward. Not a cocksucker.”

Boyd smiled and gave him a careful kiss. “I love you so much, Raylan,” he said. And Raylan really did start worrying. “I’m gonna figure this out.”

Raylan wouldn’t let him pull away. “Boyd, what are we getting into here?” 

Boyd smiled, an attempt at reassurance, before he replied, “Something we can’t ignore, baby.”

“All right,” he said. He pushed off from the bed like an old man, washed his face in the bathroom, contemplated getting sick, forced it down, then went downstairs.

Loretta was definitely already at school, so they didn’t need to explain that situation to the woman who was sitting at their kitchen table, looking around at the place like it was going to reveal some secret, some information she could use to help her cause.

Maybe Raylan was reading too much into her curious gaze, but whatever. He knew for certain she wanted something, so, as Boyd handed him a cup of steaming black coffee, he looked square at her and asked, “So what is it you want?”

She smiled, rather beautifully actually, but also sort of coldly. She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Please,” she said, “Sit down, Marshal Givens.”

Raylan glanced over at Boyd, who had this weird, look on his face. His brows were slightly raised, like they had been in the courtroom when he’d first seen him with this woman, like he was waiting for something--an order maybe. It made Raylan’s lip curl, which only made it hurt more. He must look a sight.

He didn’t want Boyd hanging around at this woman’s back, like she was gonna ask him to fetch her slippers or something, so he grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him into a chair too.

“Raylan, I’d like you to hear Ms. Johnson out,” Boyd said carefully and Raylan frowned again. He only liked bullshit like this when he was the one on sure footing.

He looked over at her. “Spit it out,” he said.

“As you know, Black Pike is always looking for new ventures, areas that have, as yet, not been able to be resourced--”

“And, by that, you mean mined?” Raylan also hated corporate double-speak and especially didn’t have the head for it today.

She gave him a conceding smile. “We are in the mining business, Marshal.”

“Then say mining when you mean mining. And all this area’s been near mined out already, what--”

“Not the stuff near the,” Boyd paused. “Near the top of the mountain, Raylan.”

Raylan looked between them. “Mountain-top mining?” He swept his gaze over to Boyd only. He knew, he _knew_ Boyd wasn’t for this, but still, he could barely believe they were even going to pretend to entertain this idea. “You’re helping her get these assholes in here to _blow the top off the fucking mountain_? Are you serious, Boyd?”

“It’s--” Boyd began, but she didn’t let him speak.

“It’s an excellent opportunity, Raylan--”

"I preferred it when you called me Marshal Givens, Miss Johnson," he told her sneering. 

"Marshal, it is an _excellent_ opportunity. Black Pike is ready to offer you a substantial sum of money for your property--"

“For _my_ property? It’s not anywhere near the top of the mountain.”

She smiled again, though he really had no idea why. His head was pounding still and his heart was beating too fast. He felt light-headed, like he had in the car. “Black Pike is looking to buy land all over Harlan, Marshal. A lot goes into an operation like this, so--”

“So you can raise up the economy ‘round here for however long it takes you to scrape the topsoil off, blast out the black gold underneath, and pretend to plant some trees while the slurry runs into the creeks? You think I don’t know how this works?” He scowled at Boyd, who looked extremely upset and something almost like shame-faced. “You gonna help them build their shanty towns and company store too, darlin’? I’m sure they’ll pay you a pretty penny.” He looked between them again and made a face like he wanted to spit on Boyd. “That ‘cause you don’t think I’ll give you any of my sell-out fortune, or you just want some of your own so badly?”

“Baby, no.” There was pain in Boyd’s voice Raylan had to tell himself wasn’t real, that there was no way the things he’d just said could be true.

Raylan’s anger was real enough he was sure it was convincing. He was pretty pissed Boyd didn’t warn him about this, since he realized now there was no way he could be involved in Carol Johnson’s protection detail. She should have known that as well and he was pissed at her for deceiving Art.

She’d wanted him alone on this to get herself insider information, get Boyd on her side to pull Raylan over there too. They were on their way to a town meeting later that day--she’d shared the itinerary with him already. She wanted them both on her side there--whatever good she thought the opinion of the town queers would be to anybody, he had very little idea.

Even if Boyd really was on her side, he could see her realizing Raylan was a long way from convinced, which was totally fucking with her plans.

She put on an excellent face though as she said, “Well, I’m going to write down a number for you--what we’re prepared to offer for your land and your house--”

“Which I’m sure you’ll keep in fine condition,” Raylan purred sarcastically and felt almost bad about the stricken look that flashed across Boyd’s face at that. His boy was a damn good actor.

“And I’ll ask you to at least consider it,” she said calmly. “Now, I’ll be outside. So you two can talk some more.”

She shut the door behind her, but Raylan knew the windows were open. Boyd wanted her to hear this.

Raylan raised his brows high. Were they really doing this?

Boyd nodded solemnly. They took each other’s hands. Boyd’s fingers curled protectively around the two small cuts on Raylan’s knuckles.

“It’s a lot of money, Raylan,” Boyd said quietly.

Raylan hadn’t even looked at it. He didn’t want to know, but Boyd turned it over. He should have all the information, he supposed. It was a lot of money. “How much is she paying you to be her goon?” he asked, disgust dripping from his tone. He squeezed Boyd’s hands.

“More than I made in the hole,” Boyd answered.

Raylan sighed. He struggled for more to argue about. He really, really didn’t want to. His head hurt and he closed his eyes. Boyd took one hand away from his and pressed a cool palm to his forehead. 

Raylan said, “What happened to your business? What happened to wanting to make Harlan _better_?” He had to believe this was the way to do that. Raylan used to think he didn’t give two shits about Harlan--that it was just Boyd and always would be--but he knew different. Harlan was home.

“We can start over,” Boyd said. “We’re good at that.”

Raylan looked at him like he was crazy. “No, we’re not.” 

They’d never started over at anything. The only reason any of this was happening was because of the house, that they needed, because they couldn’t make a change without a crutch. It was just built up and built up from everything that happened before and the house was the foundation.

Raylan was breathing hard again, because he couldn’t actually figure what Boyd thought he was going to do here. The company would push and push and push, they might have to sell anyway--if nothing stopped them, they’d get the government on their side, pull imminent domain or something with the county politicians. There was no way--

“ _Baby_ ,” Boyd said, taking Raylan’s face in his hands. “We’re going to be fine.” He was talking true here, Raylan knew, but his expression changed and he didn’t look him in the eyes as he added, “It’s easy to start over with that kind of money. We wouldn’t even have to go nowhere--”

“And watch them rip apart the hills? Pollute your precious hollers?” Raylan hissed, pulling away. He couldn’t talk about it without getting pissed. His head hurt so fucking much.

“Raylan--”

“Later,” Raylan said, pulling out his phone. “I wish you’d’ve said something, really, because I _have_ to call Art now. Her wanting the property puts me far enough in this shit that I can’t be a part of the detail. It’s a conflict of interest, no matter what we do now.”

“What _we_ do?” Boyd asked quietly. “It’s still just your land, Raylan.”

“Fuck off, Boyd,” Raylan growled. “I’d have married you years ago if that was something we could do.”

Boyd leaned back in his chair, eyes wide, at that and Raylan wondered if that was something he shouldn’t have said when they were fake fighting like this.

They stared at each other for a solid minute at least and Raylan couldn’t hold it in anymore. He said, “I’m sorry I said, fuck off and then that, I--”

Boyd smiled and shook his head. “Go make your phone call, baby.” He didn’t even add anything about the fake argument. “Tell Art--”

Raylan held up a hand. He knew. Tell Art everything, because this shit was going to get dangerous. He just had no idea how dangerous.

He had the phone up to his ear, just inside the door, when he heard Helen’s barbed voice asking, “Who the hell are you?”

Raylan shut off his phone, mid-dial and swung the front door open, saying, “Helen, what are you doing here?”

She gave him a hard, questioning look, but thankfully didn’t say anything about the state of his face. “Well, seeing as it was only three days ago your boy got near blown to pieces _and_ you’ve got a waif on your hands to boot--”

“So Boyd told you about that?”

“He’s the only way I find out about anything down here,” she grumbled, continuing, “So I thought you could do with some better food than what comes out of boxes.”

Raylan was ready to go on the defensive about how often they cook rice-a-roni, but Carol piped in too soon with a, “Ma’am, I’m not sure who you’re calling a waif and I’m sure as hell not staying here.”

Helen sniffed in her direction. “This the mine woman, then?”

“Yeah,” Raylan said. 

Helen’s hands tightened around her casserole dish. “What the hell is Boyd doin’ helping her out?”

Raylan jutted his jaw. “Ask _him_ that. I don’t fucking know.”

She seemed disturbed by the way Raylan spat the words at her and was about to say something else, when a fucking bullet whizzed right past her leg and sunk into the doorframe behind her.

Most of Raylan’s actions over the next minute or so were born entirely out of instinct and a fair amount of fear. He pulled Helen and Carol inside the house, shoving them both down and onto the floor, clear of the open windows. He looked up and saw Boyd was leaning up against the wall in the kitchen, looking out the front door they had just come through, shotgun in hand.

Boyd nodded at him, hard-eyed and fierce. 

“Did you see where?” Raylan asked him.

“Up the hill a little, I’d imagine,” Boyd said. “It’s a sharpshooter. Not a great one.”

No, at least one of them would be dead if they’d been even half as good as Tim. “Fuck.” It didn’t mean someone still wasn’t going to get shot today.

Raylan met Boyd’s eyes. “Draw the fire upstairs. I’m gonna go get ‘em.”

“Shit, Raylan,” Boyd cursed.

Helen’s voice came from behind him. Her hands were pressing Carol’s body to the floor. “That is the dumbest thing I have ever--”

“Goddammit, Helen,” Raylan turned to her, hearing Boyd take the stairs two at a time behind him.

“I know you’ve got another gun,” she said. “Where is it?”

“Top of the cellar steps. Helen, if you get fucking shot--”

“Shut up,” she growled already crawling towards the door just inside the kitchen.

Raylan glared at Carol, who was surreptitiously raising her head to peer at him. She was clearly terrified, but wasn’t crying or anything. 

“I know this asshole is after you,” Raylan told her. “All our years here, all our troubles, no one has ever shot at this house before. You brought this to my door. I’m not going to forget it. And if you do anything to further jeopardize the lives of my loved ones or your own goddamn life which I am required to protect, you can be damn sure I will never again entertain the possibility of carrying on a civil conversation with you, let alone selling you my home and my land.”

She nodded at him, wide-eyed. 

“Now keep your fucking head down and pray no one gets killed.”

Raylan dodged bullets around the side of the house and through the trees up the hill across from the driveway. He heard the bullets fly up to the house, shattering a window. He braced himself for a cry of pain, but none came, so he pushed forward, as swift and silent as possible.

He found the girl fast. She was Sally Peener, daughter of the plaintiffs on that Flyrock thing. She wasn’t hidden well and she was pissed as hell and screaming as he pulled her down the hill.

Raylan called it in then yelled for Boyd to come down. “Slow,” he shouted. “I don’t think there’s anybody else since her brother will be after Reardon, but she won’t say one way or the other. Carol Johnson, your head stays goddamn down until I know these woods are clear.”

 

The Staties arrived first, giving Raylan time to call in a warning to Reardon’s protection detail, then dial Art to apologize sincerely for getting his personal shit tangled up in work again.

“Raylan, Raylan,” Art said over the line as Raylan was starting to say again how shitty he felt. “You didn’t know about this. Frankly, I’m a little bit pissed at Boyd for not telling you in the first place. He knows better--”

“He’s playing her, Art,” Raylan said. “He’s working this from the inside. I thought you should know that too.”

Art blew out a large breath into the receiver. “Jesus, son.”

“There’s still this meeting tonight.” She’d told Raylan that she wanted to go ahead with it just a moment ago, already sending Boyd off to run some errand or other for her, barely giving them enough time to look the other in the eye in a relieved and loving way. Raylan had yearned to touch him, but she was pushing him out the door and they were supposed to be pissed at each other. “The Bennetts are going to be there, Art. She wants their goddamn land too.”

“Shit. I’m sending Tim down now. He’ll meet you there. Do not engage with them until he gets there, Raylan.”

“I can’t make any promises. We tangled earlier today already, and I--”

“Don’t do anything else, Raylan. You’re not a Marshal down there now. You’re a private citizen who has a stake in this shitstorm. If you go throwing your weight around, I’ll be very, very angry. It’s no longer your place, do you understand me?”

Raylan said that he did, hung up the phone and went to go take a goddamn nap.


End file.
